


Inner Warfare

by mrhlms



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Overdose, Porn, Post-Reichenbach, Self-Harm, Slash, Virgin Sherlock, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhlms/pseuds/mrhlms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years are enough to get new demons to haunt you. When Sherlock gets back to John after his exile things aren't exactly convenient, not for him, not for John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is written by Mar and me (Sophie) each of us writes her part from what the other has written, we obviously don't know what the other will do so that's the fun.  
> My parts are written in italics.  
> Mar's part are written in normal typing.  
> (When a character thinks it's written between two " and the typing changes)
> 
> We plan on posting a chapter a week.
> 
> Warning: This is gonna be a long fic
> 
> Warning 2: We. Love. Angst.
> 
> Also our tumblrs are:  
> Mar: drwtsn.tumblr.com  
> Sophie: mrhlms.tumblr.com
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! We would love some feedback!

 

 

**Chapter 1**

He sighed. It felt like he was sinking in the couch. He felt oppressed and breathing was difficult. His heart beat quickly but erratically. The world was blurry and his body didn’t respond to his orders. He opened his eyes suddenly and he let all the air out of his lungs. The elastic around his arm was starting to stop the blood rush and he opened his hand and closed it in a fist repeatedly.

Since the day he faked his death he started smoking again. After three months he started consuming harder drugs.

To forget home.

To forget John.

_The needle went deep on his upper arm, the familiar feeling of it made him smile.  
He undid the knot of the elastic band feeling the blood returning to his arm. Everything was getting more and more blurry as the world disappeared around him. His mind was free now, being able to think faster and at the same time not think at all._

_The best part of it all was that he couldn’t feel a thing.  
_

_Nothing hurt.  
_

_Nothing mattered._

_He closed his eyes feeling everything disappear. He smiled again, this moments were the only chance of feeling good in his horrible exile._

_Then something changed. John's face appeared before him. Shouting his name. Making his way to reach Sherlock’s body. Taking his pulse. Collapsing. Crying.  
_

_Now he was at his grave, John was begging him to be alive and Sherlock could have just stepped in and hugged him, but he couldn’t._

Feelings, _something that never happened before when he drugged, took over his body, as they were powered by the drugs. His chest felt broken, he couldn’t breathe, it was too much.  
_

But still this was the closer he could get to John. It hurt, but images seemed so real. He was between panic and relief. His head processing fast, really fast. Images flooding, lots of images. _Memories_.

Intense pain pierced through his brain and he rose his hands against his temples, closing his eyes, wincing and he screamed as his body shook and he fell down to the floor, struggling, screaming.

And the pain disappeared, suddenly, and he curled in a fetal position, on the floor, as he cried.

 

************

 

**Two years, 7 months, 2 weeks and 3 days since he jumped.**

 

He had established contact with Mycroft a month ago even though he knew his brother had been watching him since day one.

He needed news about John. He couldn’t last any longer without knowing about him.

His addiction had gone worse and worse. He was getting addicted to pain, to John.

_He had papers in front of him, photos of John, reports about what he’d been doing. His hair was greyer and his expression was sad even when he smiled. His body was thinner, obviously he had been missing more than one meal. He had started to work at the hospital and sometimes helped Lestrade with cases. Still living in 221B. He was limping again. His blog hadn’t been updated since the fall._

_Sherlock kept those images with him all the time as a reminder of what he was doing, why he was doing it._

_The images caused more pain when he consumed. Sometimes he wanted to break them, sometimes he couldn’t see them, sometimes they were the most precious thing in this world._

 

Mycroft started calling him regularly noticing how bad was doing his younger brother lately. He made it some way to put cameras in Sherlock’s new flat and he had to stop the self-destruction Sherlock was carrying on.

He had spoken to Sherlock an hour ago when Anthea hurried to his office.

He knew instantly, _Sherlock_. The surveillance showed the pale body on the floor, spasms running through the thin body.

Mycroft shouted for a mother loving ambulance and to kill that sodding idiot. The man, who was the British government himself, picked his coat and hurried out of his office grunting in anger.

 

**********

 

Sherlock could recall someone lifting his weight, his head lolling and the world being turquoise and mustard yellow. He frowned at the colours and noted for analysing later when the hideous piercing pain left his battered brain. “ _When had breathing become so hard? Breathing turquoise colour wasn't easy. Could he breathe colours?_ ” His head felt like a thunderstorm, lightings running through his body making his back arch. And he missed home and the warmness of John Watson.

 

**********

 

I need you in St. Bart’s – MH

 

Why? - JW

 

I’m already there, I work there, remember? - JW

 

Meet me at the entrance - MH

_John rolled his eyes, not impressed by Mycroft's usual mystery. He picked up his jacket and told Sarah that he would return in five minutes._

_The doctor entered in the lift, his cane at his side, and wondered what Mycroft was up to this time. It’d been some months since they last talked, and it wasn’t a good meeting -it ended with a dark eye for Mycroft- so why contact him now at his work place?_

_Mycroft was standing outside the entrance, cigarette in hand and a frustrated expression on his face._

‘ _What causes this lovely visit?’ John said sarcastically.  
_

_Mycroft looked at him and John could say that it’d been some rough months for the government. He had less hair and what was left was greyer, wrinkles covered his front._

‘ _I need your help, Watson, this is the only way out.’ Said the older Holmes brother ignoring John sass._

John looked at him gesturing him to continue.

‘Maybe you would like to sit down.’

John frowned. He was confused, Mycroft being this kind to him since the fall wasn’t usual.

‘No, I’m okay, go on.’

‘Look, John, how can I say this?’ He made a pause ‘Sherlock _faked_ his death to save you.’

John looked at him, not understanding what he just said.

Dead silence.

‘Wha- I- he-‘

John’s world shook at his feet. His mind shouting " _NO_ " frenetically and his heart was beating quicker and quicker. He suddenly felt dizzy and he gasped.

‘No.’ He let out and his vision went blurry. Mycroft placed a steady hand on his shoulder in case he had to hold the doctor if the man collapsed.

‘No.’ He said again.

‘He is almost done with Moriarty’s web but…’ He lowered his gaze. ‘He couldn’t go through your absence, he started consuming again and he overdosed last night.’

John froze. “ _Did that mean that now he was actually-“_ John shook his head and broke off his trail of thoughts.

‘He is alive, luckily, he went through the night and he is safe now; but I’m asking you if you could take care of my younger brother?’

 _John stood there several minutes, looking at Mycroft, processing the new information._ “Sherlock is alive. Sherlock lied to me. Sherlock missed me. Sherlock is consuming again. Sherlock overdosed. This bloody twat in front of me knew it all and never opened his mouth _.”_

_Mycroft had little time to react as John punched him right in the nose, it started bleeding sharply._

_'Okay, I can’t say that was unexpected’_ _He said trying to stop the rush of blood by pinching his nose. ‘So, is that a yes?’_

‘ _Yes! You idiot! You got lucky that I don’t bring my gun to work.’ John shouted ‘Tell me where he is!’_

‘5th floor room 42.’ Said Mycroft and winced.

John threw the cane away and ran throughout the hospital. He felt his legs moving alone and was actually surprised they didn't give out by now. And before he could realise he was facing the damned door.

His breath itched and the dizziness returned. He was going to see Sherlock again. _His_ Sherlock. After nearly 3 years. His shaking hand pushed the door slowly and saw the familiar tall body lying there, connected to several machines.

He let out a sob. It was so hard to see him that way. It was so hard to see him that way after three years.

Another sob.

He wished Sherlock was conscious. He wished he could blame him and hear Sherlock apologizes.

He stepped in a stood at a side of the bed as if he was afraid to touch him. Tears rolled down his face.

‘Jesus, Sherlock…’ He said with his voice broken and leaned forward to rest his head on the detective’s chest and hear his breathing and smell his scent.

 _This bloody bastard_.

_He slowly grabbed a chair and placed it next to the bed. He sat there and watched the tall form breathe._

_He felt so numb, his heart was beating fast as trying to get out his chest, but his brain… his brain was a mess of shock, anger, hurt for being out of Sherlock’s plan, but most of all there was relief_ “Sherlock is alive Sherlock is alive SherlockisaliveSherlockisalive”

_He was having a hard time to convince himself that this wasn’t a dream.  
_

_‘God, what have you done?’ He whispered as he watched the screens with Sherlock’s vitals._

_He sat there, looking at his friend and waited._

_He waited for hours. Thinking, watching, maybe he cried, maybe he cursed, maybe he wanted to throw things, to punch Sherlock until he wake up, maybe he did it all, he’s not sure._

_And as the night fell and nurses came and went, he passed out on the sofa of the room._

 

**********

 

He woke up again and Sherlock was still unconscious.

Sarah had excused him from work and she took his patients. He will have to thank her later with a dinner out or something.

He sat up on the little sofa and stretched his tiny body. His shoulder protested, he probably couldn’t afford another night in the sofa but he was most definitely staying.

He sighted and observed the body in front of him. He wasn’t still sure this all was really happening.

 _“His detective was alive.”_ His eyes watered at the thought and he blinked rapidly preventing tears come down his face.

From John’s medical knowledge Sherlock wouldn’t take that long to wake up.

He was peacefully lying over the hospital bed after an evening-night of spasm, shudders, groans and several other reactions the drug caused to the battered body.

John approached the bed and stroked his hand avoiding the IVs. He hated so much seeing Sherlock like that, so self-destroyed.

_He slowly moved his hand to the dark curls and stroked one by one clearing the forehead, then John leaned forward and placed a single kiss on Sherlock’s front._

_‘Sherlock, I’m here-_ you _are here…’ He whispered against the detective’s skin and calmly he pulled back and sat on the chair again._

_John Watson will never be aware that that specific moment is archived in Sherlock’s head as the best dream he ever had._

_The army doctor sat at the side of the bed waiting, because after all he waited three years for this, what were some more hours?_

**********

 

_Sherlock’s mind started to clear as he was more and more aware of his own body._

_There were some precious minutes when he couldn't remember anything at all, until all his life flashed before his eyes: curiositylonelinessmisunderstandingintelligencedepressioncollegebullieddrugsdrugsdrugsworkworkworkJohnJohnworkhappinessJohnfriendshipworkJohnJohnJohnloveJohnfalldrugsdepressiondrugs._

_And as the track of thoughts passed he started deducing where he was and what the hell happened to him, all of this without daring to open his eyes or moving his body._

_He felt tubes connected on his body, needles (but not the good ones), steady beeps rang in his ears “_ Oh, this is not good, no, not good at all. _” He thought._

Little by little his body started to be aware of pain. He felt heavy and his limbs hurt. A terrible headache hammered in his brain and he frowned.

He certainly didn’t miss the sunlight so he kept his eyes shut. He was trying to remember who brought him there, but nothing… scaring dark nothing.

And then he realised that there was a high chance his brother was there and he could explain. _He hated not to know_. So he opened his eyes slowly and the grey-blue-green tormented irises met the day.

He blinked and turned his head to the right.

And the tall man who was his brother wasn’t there. Instead the tiny figure of the Army doctor, _his_ Army doctor, was sitting there in the little coach, head buried in hands, too focused to realise he, _his_ detective, had woken up.

‘John?’ He called his voice sounding hoarse in his ears and he frowned.

_John Watson slowly raised his head and fixed his wet eyes on Sherlock’s.  
_

_There was a long moment of silence where the two men stared at each other, both of them praying that this wasn’t a dream.  
_

_‘So… you’re alive…’ John said with a smile, tears still streaming down his face._

‘ _Apparently’ Sherlock said as he smirked. ‘Erm, what happened to me?’ He added._

‘ _Are you asking_ me _?! I’m the one who just discovered you’re alive, shouldn’t_ I _be asking that?’_

‘ _Well, yeah –‘ Sherlock started._

‘ _You_ overdose _, you bloody idiot! You were found on a_ bloody _flat chocking on your_ own _vomit, you_ stopped _breathing on the ambulance, the doctors had to_ clear _your stomach_ _and your blood, and you’ve been in observation for_ three bloody days _, AND_ I _HAD TO KNOW ALL OF THIS BY MYCROFT AND I’M STILL TRYING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK HAS JUST HAPPENED, HOW THE HELL ARE YOU ALIVE? WHY DID YOU LEFT ME LIKE THAT?! AND HOW YOU WITH THAT BRILLIANT HEAD OF YOURS WERE SO_ STUPID _TO OVERDOSE?!’ John realised that at some point he had stood up and he was screaming. He counted to ten as he tried to breathe properly. He fixed his eyes on Sherlock again ‘It’s your turn to answer.’ He snapped._

Sherlock was short for words, shocked, and guilty flooded his world.

Every word John said pierced through him, devastating his weak body. Sherlock couldn’t gather himself and he just stared at John’s soaked eyes.

‘I- I’m sorry, Jo-‘ And he couldn’t finish the sentence since John’s fist impacted against his jaw, ripping open his lower lip. He didn’t react as blood dropped down his chin; after all, he deserved it. He was well aware he fucking deserved this and further more.

‘John.’ The voice of the detective was nothing but a weak whisper ‘I truly mean it, I- I’m sorr-' Sherlock closed his eyes as he saw John's hands rapidly approaching his face again.

‘Sherlock.’ John held Sherlock's bony face between his rough hands.

‘Sherlock, shut the fuck up.’ His dark blue eyes staring at the grey tired ones.

‘You’re forgiven.’ And very slowly, very, very slowly and with all the sweetness the little body could express, he kissed his detective, his well-alive detective.

_And Sherlock kissed him back. For the first time in his life, he kissed his John. It tasted like blood and they didn’t care._

_It was a long, long kiss and it said so many things “_ I missed you. I loved you. I still do. God, we’re such a bunch of idiots. _”_

_It was a promise.  
_

_A promise for time together, a promise of love, of life, of everything that was taken away from them and now returned._

_It was a miracle.  
_

_The one last miracle, finally coming true._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings for this chapter might be a bit spoiler-y so please if you feel uncomfortable with some issues check the notes at the end of the chapter first. Our beloved beta Anna is on holidays so she couldn't check this chapter, all the mistakes are ours.

 

_Mycroft came into the room and found the unusual view of his baby brother sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed. He stood at the door trying to remember when was the last time he saw Sherlock with such an innocent expression on his face._

_‘Are you coming in or… ?’ A voice said from the darkness of the room._

_‘I just wanted to check up on him, the nurses said that he woke up a couple of hours back’_

_‘Yes, he did’ Was the only answer from the darkness._

_‘H- Have you talked to him?’ Mycroft said hesitantly._

_‘Yes, I have and I need to talk to you now’_

_‘I don’t know-‘_

_‘You lied to me, Mycroft, you left me in the dark, you left him in the dark’_

‘I had to, John, Sherlock had to. It was him or you, and he decided to run away, to save you, you should be thankful. 

The doctor rose an eyebrow even though Mycroft couldn’t see him.

‘You should be thankful to be alive at this point and not dead flesh with a bullet in your brain, abandoned in the side of a road’

John sighed in rage. 

‘Lies saved your life, John’

‘But destroyed his’ Said the voice in the dark. John was well aware that Sherlock did all this for him but he couldn’t erase the guilty eating him deep inside, after all he provoked all of this.

_At that point a muffled noise got their attention as both looked worriedly at the figure in the bed._

_'Would you mind yelling outside, there's people trying to sleep here' A deep baritone whispered._

_'Sherlock.' Mycroft let out and he was at the side of the bed in a moment._

_For a moment John wondered if the apocalypse was near, he was witnessing something unique:_

_The Holmes brothers. Showing emotions. Well, it was not a river of tears, but both of them seemed "pleased" to see each other. And that was not something unusual._

_Mycroft had a weird expression, like the one a mother would give to a little child. There was relief and something that only could be called "love"._

_Sherlock, had an arrogant smirk but his eyes were telling more than just annoyance. There was something pure, something innocent…_

_John sometimes forgot that these two idiots were actually brothers._

Mycroft patted his brother's leg. 'I'm glad to see you woke up' He smiled slightly, that quick smirk property of the older Holmes.

'Thank you for calling John' Answered Sherlock, in nearly a whisper. He looked at John with his icy eyes and smiled at him still remembering that kiss, that first kiss. But his trail of memories broke off when he felt how his world slipped away, becoming blurry. He blinked rapidly trying to focus his gaze, his hands clenching at the bed sheets.

'Sherlock?'

John's voice rang into his brain and he winced. “Why is there so much noise?”

He realized his breath was coming in gasps and John was holding him by his shoulders.

'I'm okay, I'm-' And his voice turned into a scream as he felt a piercing pain through his brain, as if someone was fingering through the cursed gift of his mind.

_Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt so dizzy he couldn’t distinguish the floor from the ceiling._

_Pain. Pain all over his body. Everything was pain, there was nothing else._

_Shouting. Somebody was shouting. Something was holding him though his wrists, he tried to struggle but he was not strong enough._

_Needle. Another needle in his body. He was no longer in control of his actions. The detective arched his back._

_Run. He needed to run. To get out. To breath._

_And then it stopped._

_Unconsciousness took over him, but something was wrong, very wrong._

_He dreamed._

************ 

'Goodbye John' He found himself saying that, up on the rooftop of St. Bart's. The cold wind danced around him. “I can't do this to him” He looked down at the ridiculous tiny image of the Army doctor, his Army doctor. “I can't leave him like this”

He turned around to see the madman with the bullet on his brain. But instead of being completely still, the dark eyes turned toward him. The body rose, blood soaking from the greased-back black hair as he approached to him with an evil smirk.

'Come one, jump, you idiot'

And with a single touch, the dead hand pushed him down, to the ground. “He needs me. I need him. I don't want to do this. Stop it now. STOP IT”

And darkness again. Always darkness.

'Goodbye Sherlock' Now he found himself listening to that, down on the ground in front of the St. Bart's building and John... John was on the rooftop.

'John' His voice was shaking.

'John' He repeated. And the little body of the Army doctor, his Army doctor, fell down, slowly, painfully, as the dark blue eyes met his during the fall. The fall.

************

_John opened his eyes and he wished he hadn’t, a deadly headache pierced in his mind._

_He hated sleeping in such awful positions. The army doctor rose his head and remembered why he was sleeping there._

_His own hand was still holding Sherlock’s. There was a small pillow where his head had just rested and a blanket on his shoulders._

_He looked away from the painful vision of the detective and spotted a strange figure on the other side of the room; he forced his eyes to focus just enough to recognise the figure as two men:_

_Mycroft Holmes was resting on the sofa, his long body lying still._

_And Gregory Lestrade was sitting on a chair just next to the sofa, his hands linked in his belly and his legs stretched before him._

_Both men seemed to be deeply asleep. John smiled to himself and decided to get a coffee_ “This is gonna be a long day just like yesterday” _He thought as he got up._

In his way out of the room he heard a whisper calling him. He turned around a bit confused and found the bright eyes of the detective looking at him, still a bit sleepy.

Sherlock had woke up once after the sedative calmed him down, exchanged few words with the people in the room and went back to sleep.

John made his way back next to Sherlock's bed. The tall man gestured him to bend over with his hand full of IVs. He kissed him. Weakly. Maybe that's how he felt after all.

'Now you can go'

He grinned at him, pushing him slightly. John appeared a bit shocked. Or these years had change Sherlock too much or he didn't understand where that came from. Whatever it was, he liked this foreign warmness filling him. These three years had been icy-cold. He smiled back and brushed his fingers between the black curls and kissed his forehead. 

'You owe me so many teas...'

_Sherlock sighed as he watched John leave the room. “Awake, I’m awake, this is real” He thought trying to get his breath back._

_He stared at the ceiling for a while, too afraid to close his eyes, because every damn time that happened all hell broke loose.He had a rather large history of nightmares since he was a child, but this was something new.Now they were so vivid that he couldn’t know what was real “He couldn’t know! HOW did that happen? Every moment was now a question. A freaking irony. His mind was playing with him. A puzzle, this all was a puzzle, but he was definitely not enjoying it._

John came back ten minutes later with two take-away paper cups, one in each hand. He sat on the chair next to him and handed one of them to the detective.

'It will make you feel a little better' And the doctor smiled to him that smirk that could light a million rooms.

Sherlock shivered, nodded and took the warm tea with both hands and placed it near to his chest. It actually felt good, really good.

'I hope we can leave this place soon. I'd say it'd be better if you stayed at least one day more here, just to check up you're completely clean and safe'

Sherlock noticed John didn't say anything about his obvious returning to that cursed addiction. He knew John wouldn't think the overdose was a sheer act of despair, a punctual event. But he didn't mention it, not a single time since they met again after nearly three years.

************

_He was lying in his hospital bed, the room was quiet._

_John stood up to be near him and smiled. He was talking but Sherlock couldn’t hear him, his vision was blurry, the late afternoon light made the room dark. Too dark._

_He tried to focus. “Why is there any light?”_

_John was still there, beside him, his skin white against the background. The too black background that moved. It moved. “It moves? The dark can move?”_

_Sherlock tried to shout but anything came from his mouth. Horrified, he was forced to see as darkness wrapped John, immobilizing him. John tried to gasp for air but the darkness filled his lungs._

_Now, Sherlock could only see the light of two watered blue eyes, looking at him with hurt._

_‘This is all your fault’_

_‘You’re useless’_

_‘You just know how to fuck up everything you touch’_

_‘Why are you still alive?’_

_‘Do us a favour and just kill yourself’_

_Voices screamed in his head, all of them familiar, all those words heard before, by his family, by his classmates, by his colleagues at work…_

_Sherlock tried to shut them up, but he couldn’t. He hugged himself as a pathetic effort to protect himself. He felt his own nails digging in his skin._

_The voices got louder until they became unbearable._

_Then he opened his eyes and blessed air entered in his lungs._

John was holding him by his shoulders, apparently shouting him to wake up. He urgently lifted his hands to hold John by the back of his neck. He pushed him closer with shaking hands.

'Am I worth?'

John frowned at him. 'Wh-what?' He babbled.

Sherlock closed his eyes trying to calm all his fears. He wasn't being rational but past, present and future ghosts were eating him inside out.

'Am I worth all this waiting?' He swallowed and frowned his bow in frustration. 'All this pain? Everything you've been through? Am I, John?' His voice trailed off and he pushed John even closer, making their foreheads touch, closing his eyes as the detective's tears rolled down his pale cheeks. 'Am I?'

_John stared down at the copious tears that rolled on Sherlock’s face, momentarily wordless. It took him two seconds to understand what was happening and in that moment he made a decision._

_He kissed him._

_‘You are worth it, of course you are worth it.’_

_Another kiss._

_‘You’re worth all the nights without sleeping.’_

_A kiss on the cheek._

_‘All the heads on the fridge.’_

_A kiss on the other cheek._

_‘All the scars.’_

_A kiss on the nose._

_‘You’re completely worth it.’_

_A kiss on the forehead._

_‘Never forget that.’_

_A kiss on his lips._

_‘To me you are worth everything.’_

Sherlock nodded still confused of what was going on in his mind and he felt guilty for asking such a question to John.

The Army doctor hugged him tightly, broke the hug and kissed him again.

'Understood?'

He nodded again. Both smiled (Sherlock tried to, more accurately) at each other and John sat down at the side of the bed.

He opened his hand, resting it on Sherlock's lap. The detective responded caressing it before holding it tightly. The man in front of him was a treasure. He was really lucky; he knew that since day one.

'I can't wait to be back home.'

‘Me neither, Sherlock, me neither.'

************

_Sherlock was able to leave the hospital three days after that.By the time they arrived at Baker Street it was late night.John paused when he was at the door and looked at the detective, one hand on the knob._

_‘Are you ready?’ He said with a tiny smile._

_Sherlock stared at him, then at the familiar door, a door he hasn’t seen in years._

_‘Only when you are’_

_Together they entered at the flat and climbed the stairs._

_It was different than he remembered: less experiments, more empty cups of tea, empty little bottles of pills everywhere, more shots to the smiley face of the wall..._

_But there was something missing, like there wasn’t enough light, like the flat had lost its life. He looked at John who seemed lost in his own thoughts holding one little bottle of empty pills on one hand._

Sherlock broke off his thoughts and started pacing around the flat, touring it curiously.

He didn't miss the actual place. Yes, it was a really nice flat and he had got used to it but what he missed was sharing it with John, sharing space with him.

He walked in the kitchen and run his hand through the counter as he crossed it. He noticed more little bottles. More sleeping pills, painkillers, more different painkillers and antidepressants. All the bottles put together in a line.

Sherlock grabbed the anti-d's and tilted the bottle. He felt so bad, so, so, bad. If he only could start apologizing for all he had done to the man he left at the living room.

He didn't have a great time these past three years but at least he had things that got him distracted enough, but John... he only had boring routine and sleepless nights.

He put the bottle back in place and came back to where John was. He placed his (now more) skinny body in front of him.

'Do you fancy some take-away?'

'Yeah, that would be lovely' The Army doctor said.

_“When was the last time he slept properly?”_

'But I'm deadly tired.' He sighed. 'I think I'll actually go to bed, I'm not that hungry.'

'Then we can make take-away and bed.'

John smiled at the idea and then “sleeping together” hit his mind and he blushed and excitement run through his body.

'Yes, _that_ would be lovely'

_Sherlock hurried to grab the phone and make the order as John went to Sherlock’s room and looked for his pyjamas._

_Sherlock found him just when he finished changing and looked at the old place._

_‘I thought your clothes were in your room’_

_‘Yeah, well most of them are’ John said blushing ‘Bu-but I keep some of my things in a drawer, because I- I sleep here from time to time, w-when I’m feeling lonely an-and you know…’_

_Sherlock looked at the room again and his brain screamed information at him._

“Often visited. In fact it was highly possible that John hadn’t slept in his own room for years. His clothes were still on the closet.” _There were scraps of a crushed lamp still on the floor with some spots of dry blood “_ Thrown down days ago” _He thought. There were shots of a gun on the wall, as well of more of the damned pills all over the night table, and marks of a cane on the carpet._

_Sherlock slowly moved towards John and without a word he hugged him._

_‘You know, you still suck at physical interaction’ John said after a minute of silence. Sherlock smiled._

'You'll have to teach me then' Said Sherlock breaking the hug in a defiant tone.

'I'll take that as a challenge' John said pointing at him defiantly with a smirk.

Then Sherlock saw something weird and stared at John with a frown.'John' He said dryly as he hold John by his hand and pushed up one of the worn-pyjama sleeves. Sherlock's mouth dropped open. 'Oh my god, John' He gasped

He stared at the man's eyes and then again at his wrist. Horizontal scars crossed the mid-tanned skin. Two nearly healed, probably from several months ago. But there was one that couldn't be but from few weeks ago. He rubbed a finger across them and then looked at the deep blue eyes again. The Army doctor seemed so lost, so fragile, so guilty.

'John, I-' He struggled through words and realised he was actually shaking. And before the first tear from the man he actually loved (yes, Sherlock had that ability) fell from the frame of that tired face, he pushed the small body in his embrace, holding his head close to his chest.

'I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve this, I'm so sorry John'

************

_Eventually the take-away arrived and they placed themselves on the bed, both of them ate small, quickly and in silence._

_They kicked the half empty boxes of food at the end of the bed and proceeded to get in, both wrapped against each other as tightly as they could._

_Sherlock slowly took John arm in his hands and rolled the sleeve again looking closely at the scars. Minutes of silence passed._

_‘You know when my father found me cutting myself when I was eight he didn’t yell at me or seemed disappointed’ Sherlock started, John looked at him with watered eyes ‘He took the knife of me and put me on my bed. He spent the whole night with me and said something that still sometimes comes to my mind’_

_Sherlock took air and closed his eyes._

_‘He said that at least now I could use those injuries for something, he said that now I would watch those cuts heal as it’s something natural on the human body, and he said that he wanted me to remember every time I see them get better exactly that, that things get better, that I can heal, not everything lasts forever, maybe they hurt now but there would be a day when they would not be there, and, as those cuts, the reason because I cut can also go away’_

_Sherlock opened his eyes and moved his hand from John’s arm to his cheeks and wept away his tears._

_'I haven’t cut since then, I've been very close, that I can tell you, but that memory always comes to me when I'm feeling that way, now you can use it too'_

John hugged him closely and buried his head between Sherlock's neck and shoulder and he whispered against the warm skin.

'Just promise you won't leave me again and this will never happen again'

'Promise'  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-harm and a lot of sobbing, we are not sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliffhanger chapter! Again, mentions of self-harm and use of drugs.

The next morning welcomed them warmly. Surprisingly Sherlock slept all the night long and he was still in bed, sleeping, when John woke up. He certainly didn't expect that since Sherlock hardly ever slept back then. But again that was three years ago and a lot could happen and change in that time.

John brushed his fingers through the dark curls and the shiny icy eyes met the light.

'Good morning.' Said John warmly and smiled at him.

Sherlock closed his eyes again and hugged him tighter while groaning. John tried to get up but the detective groaned again and hold him even tighter.

'Sherlock I need to get a shower and get ready for work. They gave me free days while you were at hospital, I can't miss more days.'

'Stay.'

'Sherlock...'

'Stay, please.' He said pouting out.

John laughed at the child in front of him and moved his head from side to side. 'Trust me I'd like to, but I can't.'

_John managed to escape from Sherlock’s embrace and went to grab a shower._

_Sherlock stayed in bed, and closed his eyes, half asleep. Suddenly Moriarty’s face appeared before his eyes with a smirk. He opened them again and cursed. “_ Why does this still happens to me? _” He thought._

 _There’s been six days since his last shot, “_ Oh, six days, that is long...” _He felt the need run through his veins as a slightly tremor started on his hand._ “No, no, I can’t, I’m done with that, I’ve got John now, he’s the only thing I need.”

 _He got up, and went to the kitchen._ “A distraction, I need a distraction.” _He put the kettle on and started cooking some eggs._

_John came to the kitchen with his hair still damp._

_‘Since when you cook something that is not generally forbidden?’_

'Oh, just stop complaining and enjoy!' He said turning around and smiling at him.

John sat at the kitchen table and Sherlock slid the dish full of food in front of him. He was actually making a great effort trying to get out of his mind the need of the damned drug.

John got some orange juice for both of them and two glasses. Sherlock sat in the opposite side of the table and they both started to eat.

'How are you feeling Sherlock? I mean, I need to know since we arranged everything there at St. Bart's so I could be your doctor.'

 _“Shut up.”_ Thought Sherlock. The single ringing of John's voice was annoying him. He clenched his fist over the table.

'I hope these tablets make effect soon but you don't seem very needy, which is wonderful.'

One of his ears blunted and his guts began to twist. He hated so much the reactions of the addiction. He had been through that already and knew very well what was about to come. _“Oh just shut up. SHUT UP AND GIVE SOME OF THAT SHIT OR I WILL EXPLODE!”_

Sherlock brought his hand to his head and sunk his long fingers on his skull. _“It's not John fault, he doesn't need to see this. OH DAMN!”_

'Sherlock?'

'SHUT UP!' He finally grunted and swept away the dish and glass from the table making them clatter against the floor. 'OH GOD MAKE THIS STOP!' He was holding his head as if it was going to explode.

His eyes met John's and the smaller man noticed his pupils were completely blown.

_Sherlock stood up and got out of the kitchen but John hurried behind him and immobilized him just before he could even think about running. They both fell to the ground and John put his knees above Sherlock’s wrist at his side, John hands on Sherlock’s shoulders._

_‘GET AWAY FROM ME!’_

_‘That’s not gonna happen, mate.’_

_‘I SWEAR I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!’_

_‘You don’t have to say that twice.’_

_John voice was calm, holding him tightly against the ground, it was amazing the strength of John’s limbs, Sherlock could barely move but he kept struggling._

_‘Sherlock, just relax, look at me’._

_He ignored him and kept struggling and cursing._

_‘Please.’_

_Sherlock guts were on fire he wasn’t even able to see straight._

_‘Ok, you’re making me do this.’ John knocked him down, head against head and Sherlock fell limp on the ground. ‘I’m sorry.’ He said as he raised but fell again, he started shaking and leaned back against the wall, he started to feel dizzy and closed his eyes._

“ _I'll have to make sure I have the sedatives closer next time, I can't do this every time_.” He thought pushing strongly against the wall as he felt his entire world spinning around.

He opened his eyes and saw Sherlock lying the on the floor moaning and muttering intelligible things.

John crawled to sit next to Sherlock and he took his pulse. Accelerated but not dangerous. He brushed Sherlock's curls off his forehead, which part of it was already a bit swollen. He sighed and tried to stand up without losing his balance. He reached for his phone.

'Hey Sarah... Uhm... yes, look, Sherlock got an attack and I had to knock him down and now he is unconscious- yes, yes, he is okay... I can't leave him now, you know... bless you, Sarah. Thank you so much, really... If you really need someone else I can leave him with- okay, okay, thank you again.'

John hung up, sighed, and looked at Sherlock again. He was somehow expecting this to happen but he had hope Sherlock could cope with the addiction without any attack.

************

_Sherlock woke up with a terrible headache. He had just had the most horrible nightmare by far and was still struggling into consciousness._

_He tried to move a hand to his head but something restrained him. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of handcuffs attached to his right wrist to the head of the bed. He moaned in pain and tried to get them out with his free left hand. It was pointless._

_He fell back on the bed and noted something wet on his front, a damp cloth fell before his eyes._

_‘I'm sorry about the head.’ A voice said from the door._

_‘What the hell happened?’ He said with a rough tone._

_‘Well, you had an attack and I had to knock you down, you’re welcome.’_

_Sherlock directed a confused look to the silhouette of the door and a pair of hurt eyes returned the look. The silhouette went away._

'John, please, uncuff me!' Sherlock shouted through the room. Nothing. 'This is ridiculous.' He muttered gruppily.

'I was searching for the key, you impatient fuck.' Said John. He was highly irritated, but Sherlock could tell it was not with him it was with the world in general. Even if in the back of John's mind there was a hope Sherlock would return some day, this wasn't the situation he was expecting.

'Sorry I had to do all of these, but you were out of control.' He said as the lock clicked and liberated Sherlock's hand. 'Wait.' He turned around and disappeared from the room to come back with a tube of anti-inflammatory cream. He pushed back Sherlock's curls and the little bump appeared on his forehead. He spread the cream carefully while Sherlock watched him stunned. “ _How do his patients not fall in love with him instantly?_ ”

_‘Are you hungry?’ John asked when he finished._

_‘Not really.’ Sherlock avoided John gaze._

_‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’ The question caught him off guard he stared at John for a moment. ‘I know that you of all the people are not of those who “talks about feelings and stuff” but I always found wrong to treat addicts as simple disease patients as they do in rehabilitations hospitals.’_

_Sherlock still didn’t answer._

_‘Look. I’m incredibly glad that you are back, really, you can’t even imagine, but we- we are not okay, Sherlock, both of us, a-and we need to get back as we were back then. We need to face our demons, this is not something that disappears from one day to another. We n-need each other, so talk to me, maybe not now, but talk to me when something’s wrong, when you feel down, and I would do the same. But first I need to know that you trust me.’_

Sherlock nodded quietly.

'Okay, then, I got the day off, so after all I'm staying. I'll be right in the living room if you need anything.' The Army doctor smiled at him and made his way out.

'John.' Sherlock called before John could cross the door frame.

'Yes?' They were face to face again.

'What I am most afraid of all is of hurting you again. I need your help but I want to keep you safe. If this is too much, I understand it. I want to know you're okay, that's all I need right now.’

'Thank you' He gifted Sherlock with that smirk, that one that can light one thousand rooms. 'And I will help you, no matter what.'

************

Sherlock appeared back at the lounge one hour later wrapped in a blanket, in pyjamas and barefooted. He sat next to John, at the sofa, without exchanging a word. He bent his knees to his chest and he moved the toes funnily as he rested his head on John's shoulder.

'So... what are you up to?’ He said lazily. John chuckled. Sherlock was such a little kid sometimes.

_‘I’m going over the medical history of one of Sarah’s patients.’_

_‘Sounds boring.’_

_‘Well, since I don’t go to work, at least I would like to help.’_

_‘How long did it take you to cut for first time since you know… the fall?’_

_John looked at him; Sherlock eyes were worried and at the same time a bit curious._

_‘Uhm, I don’t know, about four months or so, when I gave up on the therapist thing. How long did it take you to...’_

_‘Three months.’_

_‘Oh.’_

_Silence._

_‘Did anybody notice it?’_

_John looked away; this was the first time that he was talking about this with anyone._

_‘Uhm, I don’t know, don’t think so, everyone supposed I was depressed for... you know… and well I am- was, I was.’_

_‘I know that Mycroft spied me, and that he knew, but he was smart enough not to show up, I would have kicked his ass.’_

_Silence again._

_‘When was the last time?’_

_‘Erm… I…’ John hesitated._

_‘John?’_

_‘Today.’_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING LOADS OF ANGST  
> FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS CAUSE THIS HAS ONLY JUST STARTED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘When was the last time?’
> 
> ‘Erm… I…’ John hesitated.
> 
> ‘John?’
> 
> ‘Today.’

  
Sherlock's eyes widened and then he frowned. He reached for John’s hand, opened the sleeve button and pushed it up.

His wrist was carefully bandaged. Sherlock shifted his eyes from the wrist to John's eyes. The man in front of him was so broken.

'Why?' He somehow sounded hurt. And he was. Of course _he_ was the reason.

'This is the only thing more painful than seeing you so fragile and messed up and so... not-Sherlock.'

John was embarrassed of what he had done, it wasn't fair, not for him, not for Sherlock. He had first cut four months after the fall. The next time was the first anniversary of Sherlock's death. After that, a whole year and a couple of months passed until he picked the razor again. And then a month back and finally, today.

He didn't do it to kill himself, that consequence was just a bonus that after all didn't sound that bad after all. He needed a proof that there were worse things, more painful than Sherlock missing, dead and buried. He instantly regretted his acts, every time. And even more today.

_John couldn’t look Sherlock in the eyes, he made the intent of leaving the sofa but Sherlock hold him down He winced when Sherlock hand pressed the cut and Sherlock released him immediately._

_The detective carefully put John’s legs on the sofa so he was lying along it and placed himself on top of him. Then carefully he took John’s injured arm and placed a kiss on the bandage, he continued with the other scars. He moved then to the doctor's chest, just above his heart, and then to John's tears and finally to his lips._

_The kisses were soft and caring, something completely opposite of what Sherlock Holmes had ever done, but that didn’t mean they were not real._

_Sherlock ended up hugging John tightly his face next to him just perfectly placed to keep giving kisses on John’s cheek._

_And like that they passed the evening, no words, no moves, just the silent sound of John’s sobs and Sherlock’s kisses.  
_

************

 

'Sherlock!' John shook him heavily by his shoulders. 'Sherlock! Wake up!'

The man between his hands snapped his eyes wide open as he sat up panting for air as if he had been drowning. And he actually had been drowning far away in the back of his mind. And he could never reach for John's hand, he was too far, too late.

'Sherlock, it's okay, breath, I'm here.'

'I-I-'

'Shh. I don't care, It's okay. Feeling better?'

Sherlock nodded.

The alarm clock read 2 am in the morning. John set himself back on his side of the bed, the left one. Sherlock lay down again facing John.

'All the nightmares I'm having lately don't make sense.'

'Sherlock you've been faking your death for three years and going through an addiction, re-think what you've just said.'

'Yes, right.'

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully. Then reached for one of his arms, the injured one. It had been 3 days since then and John's cut was closed and healing. He thumbed across it.

_Later that morning Sherlock woke up with John kissing him, he didn’t have another nightmare although the last one was enough for a night._

_Sherlock smiled and opened his eyes, John returned the smile._

_‘You know, I could get used to this.’_

_‘Woah, what’s that? Is that the sound of the great Sherlock Holmes saying that he likes some kind of physical interaction? The incredibly Sherlock Holmes likes to be snogged?’_

_‘Oh! Shut up!’ He said throwing a pillow to John’s head. ‘You like it too! Don’t lie’_

_John giggled and got out of bed._

_‘I’m going to shower and get ready for work, you know what I would really appreciate? A cup of tea and some toasts’_

_‘And why would I do that for you?’_

_‘Well if you want another kiss you better do’_

When John showed up again at the lounge, Sherlock was already eating while reading the newspaper. In his place, a steaming cup of tea, a pair of toast and a jar of his favourite jam were waiting for him.

He lazily sat down in front of Sherlock who focused on him, leaving the newspaper by his side. The doctor smiled at him and started eating. Sherlock coughed demandingly.

'What?' said John with his mouth full.

'My kiss?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

John laughed and stood up so he could lean forward and kiss him across the table.

'Jammy-kiss.' said John smiling.

'No need to be this cheesy, thank you.'

John chuckled at Sherlock's response and sat down again.

'I left you-' He swallowed the piece of toast on his mouth. 'I left you a pair of hypos just in case you get another attack. Mrs. Hudson will be downstairs while I'm at work. Please, Sherlock, please, I beg you, if you start feeling weird, tell her and use the hypos, you- you already know how to use them.'

Sherlock nodded and looked at him in a don't-worry-way.

_‘Ok, so I have to go, Monday mornings are always a mess, I’ll come back this afternoon I have the short shift today, fortunately.’_

_John stood up and grabbed his jacket, Sherlock accompanied him to the door._

_‘I’ll just ask you one more thing: please no more heads on the fridge.’_

_‘Where could I possibly get a fresh human head? Oh! You could brought me one from the hosp-‘_

_‘Don’t even think about it.’_

_A kiss on the nose._

_‘See you later, and take care of yourself, please don’t set fire to anything.’_

_‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’_

_Sherlock closed the door behind John and looked at the flat “_ what the hell am i supposed to do now? _” He sat on the couch in his thinking position. He stayed like that for hours until he began to feel his body start to burn with need but it was something he could handle, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore it._

_“Well, well, well, look at you, faking being strong, isn’t it hilarious?”_

_He opened his eyes at the sing-song voice by his ear, James Moriarty was looking at him with a smirk._

_‘What the hell-‘_

_“What the hell you were dead?” He said “Yeah, I am.” He lowered his head to show a bloodied hole “A pity, I know, but look at the bright side, I can fuck with your mind and no one will even notice it, oh! I’m gonna enjoy this.”_

_Sherlock stood up and put some space between him and the mad man._

_‘This is not real, this is happening inside my head._

_“Of course it's happening inside your head, darling, but why should that mean that it is not real?”_

Sherlock shook his head. The image of Moriarty disappeared, he sighed in relief.

“You're so entertaining.” His breath was cold and the whisper behind him made Sherlock shudder.

He turned around violently. Jim laughed at him and licked his lips. Intense starting was shared until Moriarty giggled again.

“You're breaking your doctor so slowly and so painfully. It's wonderful how you feel guilty but still you push him into this because _you_ need him. I just enjoy this so much.” He said with a tone of joy that irritated Sherlock. “The doctor. Be careful, soon there will be no doctor, you'll end him.”

'Shut up.' Sherlock's tone was low but angry.

Suddenly the need of drug hit him again. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“Sherlock, do it. You've ruined everything already.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and his gaze was wild. He jumped to grab Jim by the collar of his coat but the image blended away at his touch.

“You dumb, you  even said I was not real.” He sighed. “So predictable, so boring, so desperate, so useless. He was wrong. You're not worth.'”

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He was still sitting on the sofa. A strong pain shook his body and pierced his brain. Moriarty was not there anymore. His heart rate was alarmingly fast. He hold his temples with both hands. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need, I- Fuck.”_

His back arched as the pain was nearly unbearable. He made an effort to stand up but the dizziness brought him to the floor immediately. “ _John, John, think of John.”_

He crawled somehow to the kitchen table to reach the case with the hypos carefully placed on a corner. With shaking hands he opened it. His breath in gasps, all sweaty. And the blessed medicine ran through his veins and minutes later he fell unconscious on the cold floor.  
  


************

_  
He woke up again still on the ground, the hypo on his right hand. It took him some minutes to get on his feet._

_He went straight to Mrs. Hudson's house downstairs, but didn’t say a thing of the attack. She prepared some tea and biscuits and talked about crap telly, but Sherlock didn’t listen, he could feel the presence of Moriarty on the room._

_An hour later he was back at the lonely flat, he sighed against the door putting his hands on his pockets and he noticed something weird._

_"Well, given that you’re such a coward and didn’t go and find it, I took the privilege of doing it myself." The Irish voice said on his head as he discovered a syringe already prepared on his hand. "Oh! c’mon! Like you don’t remember your little stash on Hudson’s house."_

_‘Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!’_

_"Hey, there’s no need to be rude, I’m just helping you to get what you really want."_

_'I don't want this.’_

_"Are you sure? You obviously physically need it and you can’t tell me you don’t miss the feeling of it running on your veins, and the pleasure, it would definitely help you with your current pain."_

_‘STOP.’_

************  
  


_John opened the door and entered happily on the flat, he left his jacket and went to the lounge._

_‘Hey, you know wha- SHERLOCK!’_

_‘STAY AWAY FROM ME.’_

_Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes red as if he had been crying a long time, his right hand was clenched on his left arm with a full syringe on it._

_John took a step._

_‘I SAID STAY AWAY.’_

_‘Sherlock, please listen to me.’_

_“C’mon, Sherlock, darling, you can do it, you just have to push the button and everything will be pleasure again.”_

_Tears rolled again on Sherlock face and John heart nearly stopped._

_‘Please, get out.’ Sherlock said in a desperate whisper._

_John stood there without knowing exactly what to do, then he came up with a decision and got out of the room._

_“See, he doesn’t care.” The sing-song voice said._

_John came back running from the bathroom, his heart beating fast._

_‘If you do it I’ll do it.’ He said firmly showing a razor on his hand against his already injured arm._

Sherlock looked at him, crying out for help with his eyes.

“This is getting sooooo interesting.” Said Moriarty again with the hateful sing-a-song. “Do it. Double pain, double fun. What a pair of useless idiots.”

John hold his gaze directly at Sherlock, his arm lifted up, razor pressed against skin. He couldn't see what was going through that beautiful but complicated brain. Sherlock didn't want to do it, but something was forcing him to. He couldn't think. Sherlock couldn't think. That wasn't good at all. John's heart broke.

'Sherlock.'

Sherlock reacted strangely at John's voice.

'Breath. You're not breathing properly.' John looked at him seriously.

Sherlock actually listened to him and made an effort to do as the Army doctor told.

'That's it, better, isn't it?' Sherlock nodded quietly, still half-sobbing.

'Okay, now that we have fresh air in our lungs and heart beat is slower, let's try thinking. Pros and cons.'

John let Sherlock some seconds.

'We both know it's difficult to fight through this but it will get better. We both know.'

And the syringe drop from his shaking hands, clattering against the floor. John run to Sherlock and catch him before his legs gave out.

John sat him on the floor setting himself next to him and holding him tightly against his body. Sherlock was awfully shaking and he was a dead weight over John. John stroked his back up and down and buried his nose in the wild curls.

_‘Make him go.’ It was almost inaudible but John heard it._

_He raised Sherlock’s head with one hand but Sherlock was already unconscious. John sighed and hugged him tightly._

_When he felt his body strong enough to carry his partner he stood up and put Sherlock’s arm around his neck, slowly but steady he made his way to the bedroom._

_Sherlock body fell limp on the bed and John put the blankets on him. He returned to the living room and picked up the razor and the syringe and hided them both._

_He went to the kitchen and found a worn out hypo on the ground, he took it and threw it away._

_He ate a little, all in silence, thinking. “_ What did Sherlock meant with “him”?”

_He had read that addiction patients had hallucinations and selective amnesia._

“Did Sherlock just dreamed with somebody forcing him to consume because the truth was too terrible?”

_Something was clear; John would have to take some needed vacations, at least for some weeks._

_When he finished his dinner he went to the bed again, he put his pyjamas on and wrapped himself against Sherlock, he thought that maybe if he kept him safe and warm in an embrace Sherlock wouldn’t have nightmares, it wasn’t really possible but John did it anyway._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the fluff. John and Sherlock's relationship take a step forward and they start showing random affection apart from enjoying the lack of personal space.

When John woke up the next morning Sherlock wasn't there. His heart beated up frantically and he jumped off the bed. He paced quickly to the lounge and there he was, staring lost at his violin on his lap and absently playing some random notes.

John leaned against the door frame and observed him. Sherlock hadn't noticed him. He smiled and his heart felt warm. This Sherlock was more like the one he remembered. Only God knew what was going on in that wonderful head of his madman. Sometimes he wished he could see it, like a projected film on the wall.

His thoughts broke off when he realised Sherlock had saw him and was directly looking at him. Those green-blue-grey eyes of him made him heart stop.

'Good morning.' The baritone voice rumbled through the room. John shuddered.

'Morning, Sherlock.' Sherlock turned his arm around to check the time and looked at John with a frown.

'You're 2 hours late for work.'

'Not really. I asked for a sabbatical and they gave it to me. After all, I could ask for it whenever I wanted and Sarah was really comprehensive. I can't leave you here alone, it's too dangerous, and there's nothing you can say to make me think otherwise. Apart from that, we've lost a lot of time and we need to make up for these awful years.' He said pulling a little smile at the end.

_‘But you like your job at the hospital.’_

_‘Yeah, but I like you more.’_

_They stared at each other momentarily, neither sure of what to say next. Immediately they blushed and looked away as two first-date teenagers._

_‘Erm, have you eaten something? I can tell that you fell unconscious twice yesterday, that’s not good for your body.’_

_‘A toast.’ Was the simple answer._

_‘Right... I see you’ve got your violin back, I kept it in a good state, hope you appreciate it.’_

_‘It’s been a long time since I played anything.’_

_Sherlock put his violin on his shoulder, staring at nothing, and began to play._

_John washed the dishes as he listened to the notes coming from the living room. Sherlock seemed to start getting used to the familiar instrument again until the song broke off. John watched him from the kitchen, now he was staring at the smiley-painted-wall, his eyes cold._

_He left the instrument on the table and stood up facing the window._

_‘Are you okay?’ John said hesitantly._

'Yes.' He said without looking at John.

'Sherlock...' John said implying he knew something was wrong or something was bothering the man in front of him. Sherlock stared at John and then back to the window, all in silence, while John stared back.

'It's these nightmares... they are... too frequent and they are driving me insane.' Sherlock looked again at John. 'I can't distinguish if they are real or not until I wake up. Yesterday...’ Sherlock broke off unsure if he wanted to tell this to John or not. John looked at him worriedly but with a tinge of warmness. He sighed. ‘Yesterday Moriarty was there with me. I know it's impossible but my mind recalls it as real and I don't know for how long I will be able to cope with this.'

John approached to him and stroked his right arm.

'It's normal you're going through this, Sherlock. Don't think too much about it, as your addiction eases away and more good memories fill your brain, the nightmares will cease. Just be patient. I'm here to keep you safe.'

_John buried his face in Sherlock’s dressing gown, Sherlock didn’t flinch or tried to get away, he actually put his arms around him and gently hugged him. Though it was an emotional moment, John froze, something must be really wrong inside Sherlock for actually hugging him like that._

_Sherlock hug John tight, feeling his tiny form around him. The thought kept him ground “This is real, this is very real.”_

_He started cataloguing his senses: John’s vanilla shampoo scent, John’s warm body against his, John’s comfortable pyjamas on his hands, John’s blonde hair on his face. John._

_‘So a sabbatical, uh? A whole year?’_

_‘Yep.’_

_‘That’s a pity, you know, I actually wanted you to bring me a new human head.’_

 

************

 

'John.'

'Mhm?’

'I missed you so much.'

John stared confused at the back of Sherlock's head. The detective had curled himself up between John's legs who was typing something up, but Sherlock thought that could clearly wait. So the man sat there, resting his back on John's chest, the top of his head just brushing his chin and his legs stretched out over the coffee table.

Some minutes later he demanded John's hand to lace with his and John stroked his hip bone up and down under the t-shirt with his spare hand

John squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'You haven't explained me any of your 'adventures' yet. I'd like to hear some, how my genius saved the world and my life.' John giggled at how extremely cheesy that sounded.

_Sherlock snorted in response. ‘Well I travelled through pretty much whole Europe, you know?’_

_‘Really?’_

_‘Yeah, I spent the first 6 month in Switzerland; I managed to track major lead to Moriarty's web there, so I stayed in a dirty abandoned flat. Some of Moriarty's men were real idiots, I managed to take care of most of them in a month, the problem was the inner circle, they were really difficult to track down, lots of security, until I could enter in their office and read their locations.’_

_John raised a hand to rest it on Sherlock’s chest and stocked it to make the detective feel secure._

_‘And then I went to Belgium some months, I found one of the important leads there, I stayed in another abandoned flat, this one was even more small and boring, I could manage to deduce practically everything about the old owners in one day, so I used to go for walks to clear my mind.’_

_John imagined him walking in the streets alone, unnoticed, watching people go by, deducing them, just as John did when he was alone._

_‘Then I ended up in Paris, I really don’t understand what people say about it, it’s a boring city, although I found a particular place while I was doing my vigilance where you can see the Seine at its best, it’s cleaner than the Thames…’_

_John stopped listening, his mind was imagining so many situations._

_Sherlock travelling, his silhouette against a beautiful landscape, his eyes mirroring the colour of the sky…_

_‘... obviously I could handle him, but I ended up on the floor with a bleeding leg, it was not something important but it hurt like hell, and drew attention for coming back to the flat.'_

_‘What? Come again? You were hurt?’_

_‘Of course I was hurt, more than once, it wasn’t a pleasure trip, John.’_

'But, then, it's impossible you got the adequate treatment for those wounds, most of them must have taken ages to heal and probably you got several... scars.'

'I'm glad to see you still think.'

Sherlock titled his head back so he could see John and he smiled at him.

'I'm not joking Sherlock.'

'I didn't have enough time for that and I know some first aid techniques, any way, Mycroft has been following me all the time, he wouldn't let me get in real danger.'

John remained in silence clearly annoyed. Sherlock stood up, turned around and knelt in front of him, holding him by his thighs.

'Come on, John, what did you expect me to do?'

'Show me.'

'What?'

'Show me your scars.'

_Sherlock slowly lowered his dressing gown until it rested on the floor, he, then, pulled his shirt up a left it down too, exposing his pale chest to the sunlight._

_John took his hands and leaded him to rest on his lap, facing him._

_John touched every scar and bruise in Sherlock’s chest with utterly care, there were wounds in all shapes, some of them nearly healed, barely seen, and some of them were recent, weekly recent, they must even still hurt, he looked at Sherlock with hurt eyes._

_‘And the one in your leg?’ He asked with a small voice._

_Sherlock stood up again and took off his pyjamas trousers, leaving him with only his boxers on._

_John looked at them too. A fading scar occupied part of Sherlock’s leg from the knee to up his thigh. He took Sherlock by the muscles, again to rest on his lap, caressing his legs._

_Sherlock didn’t look at him in the eye and John noticed it._

_Every scar told a story, and maybe he was not a genius but his knowledge as a doctor could deduce most of them._

_John took Sherlock by the back of his neck and kissed him, slowly and gently as Sherlock moved nearer until there was no space between them._

_John caressed the slim body and left a kiss on Sherlock’s chest._

_‘It’s okay, I don’t care about the scars, most of them will perfectly heal.’ John said against the skin._

_Sherlock took John’s head on his hands._

_‘I don’t care about yours either, John.’_

Sherlock kissed him softly on the lips. He leaned forward resting on John's chest, his head on his shoulder. John continued running his fingers up and down feeling the little bumps of Sherlock's spine.

'Thank you for forgiving me.' The detective voice echoed inside John.

'Thank you for coming back.'


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's sad, really sad.   
> Sherlock's crazy, really crazy.

It'd been 3 weeks since Sherlock had come back and everybody seemed to forget he had been gone for 3 years and he was going through an addiction.

No one called any more to ask for them both, no one came to visit, and John was actually pleased with this. He was fed up of the same questions all over again digging in the still-open wound. He just wanted to spend time with _the_ one.

John opened the little diary where he kept up Sherlock's progress. So far the medication was working and it had been 8 days since the last attack and the Moriarty hallucinations.

Speaking of himself, he slept and ate better and felt less tense. Still, the ghosts of depression were still there.

_They were handling everything as best as they could, though Sherlock horrible nightmares hadn’t stopped and John still woke several times thinking the detective was dead, but at the end they had each other when they woke up._

_So an unexpected and very welcomed schedule was settled, with jam and toast in the morning and dishwashing together after lunch and cuddles while watching crap telly._

_Still both of them felt so insecure in what came about talking or expressing intimacy…_

_They kissed, yeah, and they had become quite better at it, learning from each other, but it felt so utterly surreal, only done when the situation demanded it, only when they were extremely sad, just for comfort on a depressing evening._

_Both kept telling themselves that time would come and maybe when they felt just a little better, maybe when the nightmares weren’t so frequent, maybe when John didn’t cry in the shower, maybe when Sherlock could finish a song on his violin, maybe then they could just kiss because they wanted, maybe then they could explore each other bodies, maybe then they could experiment with one another._

_But in reality, both were utterly afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of not being prepared. Afraid of screwing up. Afraid of being left behind._

_Just afraid of taking the next step._

John wasn't really disturbed by the idea of having to wait until their relationship became more carnal. He actually was pleased things were going slowly. He didn't think he could cope with everything at the moment. He was expecting that just someday they would work like a normal couple and he would be disappointed if they didn't, but now wasn't the moment.

Sherlock thought about that more frequently and he sometimes freaked out. He was afraid of not being enough or fucking it up. But, as John, by now he was okay with the situation. He needed John like air in his lungs, and he didn't care how he was with John as far as he _was_ with him.

He was feeling edgy that day but he didn't tell the doctor. He didn't tell his doctor because he wasn't aching, or tired, or anything. He just had a little something inside him that made him uncomfortable. Nothing that some violin-playing couldn't take off his mind…

_Sherlock was sitting on the sofa putting resin on his bow while thinking about how stupidly much have he missed this simple act._

_‘Do you need some?’_

_‘What?’_

_‘Do you need some more milk, you know for your… er, experiment you left on the kitchen...’_

_‘Oh, oh! ehm, no.’_

_‘Are you ok? You seem a bit insane.’_

_‘What did you say?’_

_‘You look absent, Jesus, are you deaf?’_

_Sherlock looked away, frowning his brow,_ "Weird." _he thought._

_‘You’re so getting out of your mind, are you gonna consume?’_

_Sherlock looked at John still writing the shopping list, his body language didn’t match what he has just said, “_ Okay, okay keep it calm and get out _”._

_He stood up rather quickly which left him a bit dizzy._

_‘Uhm, I'm going to, er, rest a bit.’_

_John looked at him with a confused expression._

_‘You don’t “rest”.’_

_Too late, Sherlock was out of the room and heading to the bedroom, John followed and was able to see the door slamming closed._

_‘Sherlock are you sure you’re okay?’ The voice from outside said._

_‘Yeah, perfectly, just need some time.’_

_‘Some time for getting high, right?’ John said to his face, which was rather confusing having the fact that he was sitting against the door and John hadn’t come in._

_‘Oh, yeah you know you want it, c’mon, just this once.’_

_‘Sherlock is everything fine?’ The same voice said from the other side of the door._

_‘Just in a minute or so.’ John from the room answered._

_Sherlock brain was screaming, divided between the_ “OH YES, please, John, where is it? Give me some! _” and the “_ Not good, this is not good, make it stop.”

_John from outside managed to open the door._

_Sherlock, still on the ground, looked wide-eyed at both Johns now in front of him, unable to distinguish which was which._

'Sherlock.' They both called at the same time. Sherlock breath was erratic and to be honest he was starting to panic. He shut his eyes closed and hold his head by his temples with both hands.

'John?'

'Yes?' The two Johns answered at the same time.

Sherlock groaned, the insufferable pain was starting to pierce through his brain.

'John! _My_ John!'

Sherlock started shivering. His mind was collapsing and he couldn't think or separate reality from hallucinations. Because he knew one of them wasn't real.

“Shush, Sherlock, it's okay, calm down.” John ran his hand through his hair. He approached his mouth to Sherlock's ear and whispered. “What do you need? Heroine? Cocaine?”

Sherlock's breath caught and he snapped his eyes open and John smiled at him, but not with that grin that could light a million rooms, it was a smile of sheer pleasure at Sherlock's distress.

And suddenly the image of John changed to Moriarty's and back to John's, like there had been an interference.

Sherlock curled up on the ground holding his head and screaming. Tears ran down his face as frustration and rage were burning him inside out.

'STOP! OH HELL, STOP THIS, ST-!'

He felt a needle through his arm’s skin and opened his eyes again. John was facing him with a frown. The smaller man rubbed the burning angular cheeks, sweeping away the tears.

'It's okay now, Sherlock.'

'John...' the world was blurry by the edges then.

_John held the detective’s head as he fell unconscious. He, then, brought their foreheads together._

_‘Ugh, I’m sorry.’ He whispered and thanking that they were already on their room he brought Sherlock’s body to the bed._

_John opened the drawer and took his diary._

_He spent the evening sitting on the entrance of the window, calculating medical variants._

_As the night fell and a glorious headache took over him he decided to eat something and get a blessed ibuprofen._

_Another minimal dinner later, John stood up in front of the mirror_

_“_ Since when have I looked so old? _” He thought as he stared at his everyday-more-notorious gray hair and the wrinkles on his front, bags on his eyes..._

_“_ Jesus I am just so bloody tired _” He rubbed unconsciously a hand on his injured arm and took the pills._

_He felt alone there at the small bathroom, again, alone._

_And that was a thought that he always had, that doubt of existence. Certainly no one was thinking of him right now, certainly no one gave a fuck of what he thought or did right there in that moment. How could that be possible? How could he feel so utterly insignificant?_

_His eyes watered but he didn’t let the tears come “_ No, I’ve cried enough, just stop it, you idiot _”_

_And with the soldier mode on he stood properly again “_ I don’t care. I don’t care that nobody cares. I don’t care about myself. I could just die right now and I wouldn’t give any fucks. But people need me. It's my duty. I have to take care of them, I can’t just let everyone down. Screw feelings, there are things more important. _”_

_He turned and went to bed, checked Sherlock’s heart beats, turned off the lights and tried to sleep. Just tried._

************

 

John Watson woke up to find a detective staring at him while he caressed his chest softly. John yawned and closed his eyes again. Sherlock's hand moved from his chest to his neck and he thumbed his cheek.

'Morning.' The deep voice whispered.

John groaned slightly. He was exhausted and getting out of bed wasn't a plan. Sherlock continued stroking his man as the other struggled between awake and asleep. Some minute passed until Sherlock spoke again.

'You look sad, John.'

John opened his deep blue eyes to stare at Sherlock.

'That's because I'm sad, Sherlock.'

'I say it because I want to change that but I don't know how. You're the good one at feelings and I just... I just want to help as much as you help me.'

_‘I really don’t know how you can help me either.’_

_Sherlock stopped caressing him and looked down suddenly hurt._

_‘No, please.’ John put his hand over Sherlock chin ‘Don’t be sad for me, I’m not worth it.’ John smiled tiredly._

_Sherlock hugged him burying his face on his neck._

_‘I just want you to be happy, like we were before all of this happened.’_

_John fell a knot on his chest and closed his eyes._

_‘I’m sorry all of this happened.’ Sherlock breathed against his skin._

_‘It’s my fault.’ John said._

_Sherlock raised his head to look at him in the eye._

_‘No, it's not, how would it be your fault?’_

_‘You jumped for me, I messed up your life, all because I was an easy target, maybe you would be better without knowing me.’_

_Sherlock slapped him in the face ‘Don’t you dare to say anything like that ever again.’_

_John closed his eyes once more, not wanting to see the look on Sherlock face._

_‘C’mon, John I just slapped you, you should have immobilized me on the ground by now.’_

_‘I’m not on the mood.’_

_‘What do you want to do?’_

_‘Nothing, I just want to lie here all day.’_

_‘Sounds like fun.’ Sherlock said burying again his face on his neck._

_‘You don’t have to stay if you don’t want.’_

_‘I want, I’d rather not be alone and I know you want the same, and what have the outside world that I don’t have here? I’ve got you.’_

Sherlock curled himself on John's left side. He ran his hand though John's tummy, up and down, again and again.

John left his eyes closed and Sherlock observed him with those crystalline eyes of him. John's profile intrigued him. He ran a finger following the line it made against the light outside.

John opened an eye and giggled.

When Sherlock arrived to his lips, he opened his mouth and bit Sherlock's finger. Sherlock frowned and groaned pulling the finger out.

When John released him he rolled to his side and kissed Sherlock on the lips. He closed his eyes again and Sherlock embraced him.

'What are you thinking John?' He asked after some minutes of silence.

'How can you possibly know I'm thinking about something of interest?'

John looked at him again with that what-the-actual-fuck-face he pulled when Sherlock did these guesses.

'I was thinking that's been really long since you got any case and you still haven't complained about it. That's not you at all.'

_‘That’s because I’ve got the most interesting case of them all right in front of me, you’re a mystery, John Watson, so interesting I don’t think I’ll ever get tired.’_

_‘Oh, c’mon, shut up.’_

_‘It’s true, every time I think I’ve resolved you, you come and surprise me.’_

_‘Stop it.’_

_‘You with your tiny body and incredible strength, and teas and jumpers, and guns and dog tags, and punches and kisses, and your ability to spot the most unnoticed things, and make every normal and vulgar action a masterpiece, how you help every single soul that you can reach and still think so low of yourself, how life has treated you so badly but you’re still here, and how you’re so silly to think that I would leave this bed without you.’_

John Watson felt a warmness inside of him, just right on top of his heart, that he hadn't felt in years. Oh, these silly six feet of messy consulting detective, his madman, he was the only one now and ever who knew how to push the right buttons to make the doctor feel that way.

John certainly missed this feeling. But he also felt guilty for his thought the night before. “ _Sherlock cared. He did, didn't he?_ ” But again he felt this doubt. He believed Sherlock someday wouldn't have enough with him and then what?

John broke off his thoughts. Sherlock was staring at him and he realised he was crying.

He had been holding a lot of emotions and feelings lately and he didn't dare to cry too much: His head was a mess but he tried -really hard- to stay sane and aware for Sherlock.

But it was not another attack of the man he loves, because, yes, he did love him, or more nightmares or bad days who made the man mentally collapse.

It was the feeling of being loved, that thing that he missed so much, that loosed the military man in tears and sobs.

_‘What’s wrong now? Oh god, John, I didn’t mean to hurt you, John? I’m sorry.’_

_Sherlock hugged him again, desperately as he wasn’t sure what to do._

_‘I-I I’m sorry, I ju-just--‘ John tried to say but he couldn’t stop sobbing, Sherlock caressed his hair._

_‘It’s okay, just relax.’_

_‘I l-love y-you.’ John could let out after some minutes._

_Sherlock looked at him with one eyebrow raised, he certainly didn’t expect that._

_‘I don’t unders--‘_

_‘I-I always have.’_

_‘I thought that I have--‘_

_‘You’re the o-only one that have e-ever made me feel l-loved.’_

_‘John--‘_

_‘I love you, I l-love you, m-maybe you don’t love me, but I l-love you.’_

_‘I love you too.’_

_‘Please d-don’t leave me a-again.’_

_‘I won’t.’_

_‘H-how do y-you do that?’_

_‘Do what?’_

_‘Make m-me seem s-so “perfect”?’_

_‘That’s how I see you.’_

_'I-I can't see it.'_

_'Well, then my mission is to make you realise that.'_

_'I don't t-think I c-could ever--'_

_'Cause you are, perfect, John.'_

Sherlock squeezed the trembling form of John against him, stroking the back of his head.

He was half-panicking, to be honest. He got better at sentiments and social interaction during these past years, ironic, to say the least, since he was completely alone, but he didn't know how to calm John down, who was still sobbing against his chest.

'John, stop crying, p-please.' He murmured against the doctor's dark blond hair.

John noticed how awkward was Sherlock feeling and that made him giggle. Sherlock considered his man for a moment and John stared at him, his eyes all red and swollen but he was smiling.

Sherlock smiled back and swept the tears away with his clever and long fingers. He felt a pleasant relief.

'I had to break down sooner or later.' John sighed.

'Say it again?'

'I had to...' John said confused.

'No, not that.' Sherlock stared at him as if he was communicating telepathically with John.

'Oh.' realised the doctor. 'I love you.'

'I love you too.'

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone copes with a headache their own way

_It is said that the first I-love-you in a relationship is rather important._

_It has to be said in a romantic dinner or whispered after sex or breathed in an anniversary kiss._

_Sherlock and John’s first I-love-you was nothing like that._

_It was whispered between tears, nearly choked in sobs, and it came directly from both their damaged hearts._

_This simple fact says more about them than they would ever know because it was the first real I-love you they’ve ever heard or spoken._

_As everybody knows, Sherlock Holmes doesn’t_ do _feelings. The first I-love-you he ever said had to be forced by his mother. It was at the funeral of his father, the last day he ever saw the man, at the age of ten. Sherlock was angry in that moment, really properly furious as he didn’t understand how they were in that situation, and he hated not to know._

_After that Sherlock said very few I-love-yous, they were always sarcastic or used for manipulation, and, really what can you expect from him? He comes from a family were Mycroft Holmes is known as the sentimental one._

_John Watson first I-love-you was at the age of four, he said it to his sister, who he indeed loved._

_In fact, for a very long time in his first years of life, his sister was the only person he knew he loved. He couldn’t really say that to his abusive father or alcoholic mother, he couldn’t say it to his friends because (and everyone who knows John Watson would be very surprised of this) he had none until the age of sixteen._

_Later John said it to his multiple lovers, who always end up breaking his heart, to his co-workers when they did him a favour, to his deceased mates at war, again to his sister when she was unconscious from alcohol abuse._

_It was not until Sherlock Holmes and John Watson found each other that they_ felt _loved, and the feeling confused them both._

 _It took three years of emotional trauma to realise that they, indeed,_ loved _one another, that feeling also confused them to no end, not to say that annoyed them both as they were separated for the little fact that Sherlock Holmes faked his death._

 _And it took a mental and emotional breakdown from the part of John Watson to finally_ say _it._

************

 

Sherlock and John left the flat for an afternoon walk after the good doctor arranged the notes of Sherlock’s progress.

The last attack was two days ago, and  it had hideously strong. Sherlock had explained him the hallucinations he had gone through during the attacks and his heart had ached between his lungs and his stomach had twitched as if he was going to throw up.

The nightmares continued with the same frequency. John couldn’t remember a night Sherlock slept all straight, even though the bad dreams seemed less disturbing to the detective.

It was obvious Sherlock was in a better mood, and that was something. And with that John was a bit happier.

Sherlock had been able to finish a song on his violin that morning after three years. That pleased the madman to no end. John had applauded him leaned against the door frame and gave him that smile that Sherlock loved so much.

Walking down the street John laced his fingers between Sherlock’s globed ones.

It was the first time Sherlock got out of 221B after they came back from St. Bart’s.

The fresh air, the noise, the people, the city, Sherlock missed them, but they were a bit overwhelming, his mind still couldn’t process everything

_They ended up in Trafalgar Square, sat down at the stairs in front of the National Gallery and watched the tourists pass. Sherlock deduced everything about them and let John try too._

_‘You have become rather good at this.’_

_John giggled and smiled at the detective._

_‘Well, I had a little practice.’_

_‘How?’_

_‘Well, I used to do this kind of walks and see people, it cleared my mind a bit, and sometimes Greg called me and told me about his cases and I tried to help.’_

_John relaxed against Sherlock’s shoulder and the detective passed an arm around his middle, both leaning against the wall._

_No one noticed them, people passed by rushing to get to their destinations, and no one noticed that the fallen Sherlock Holmes was sitting on the stairs embracing the long disappeared Doctor Watson. The best thing of it all was that neither Sherlock nor John gave a fuck about it._

They came back home, pacing slowly, as the sun fell down behind the buildings.

They had been several hours outside and by the time they entered at the flat it was dinner time. John decided to cook and Sherlock sat on the kitchen table and observed him.

They chatted away about everything and nothing.

‘So you learned French?’

‘Yes.’

John looked at him teasing.

‘Talk to me in French.’

‘No, John, I still have-‘ Sherlock winced. John looked at him confused.

‘Sherlock?’ he approached him

‘No, no, I’m okay. It just, it was a wave of pain on my head.’

John moved in search of the hypos.

‘No, John, no- Hell, it has started.’ he murmured.

‘What has started?’

‘Last time I rehabilitated I had migraines and headaches. I thought it would be different this time, oh fuck-’ Sherlock could start feeling the nausea. He hated greatly how quick his migraines escalated. In three minute he could pass from perfectly healthy to feel how light stabbed his eyes and made his head spin.

_John rushed to get a couple of paracetamols and when he came back Sherlock was holding his head in his hands breathing erratically._

_‘Shhh, take your hands off, please, Sherlock, look at me, take this, it’s gonna make you feel better.’_

_He gave him a glass of water with the pills and Sherlock swallowed it desperately, he left the glass on the table nearly crushing it._

_‘C’mon hold onto me, let’s go to the sofa, yeah?’_

_Sherlock sat on the sofa, still holding on his temples, John frowned._

_‘Just lie here, it’s just minutes until the pills start working.’_

_He placed himself on the end of the couch and put Sherlock’s head on his lap, he started stroking his curls. He could feel the tension on his skin._

_‘Try to relax’_

_It took ten minutes to the detective to stop panting._

_‘Sherlock, I’m going to go and get the dinner, yeah? Just stay here I’ll come back just now.’_

_‘Not hungry.’_

_‘Sherlock, you are dehydrated, I’m going to get the soup and you’re going to finish it, it’s an order.’_

_Sherlock just hummed frustratedly._

John came back to the darkened living room and handed a mug of hot soup to Sherlock, who looked at it with disgust.

'Sherlock, please, I don't want you to pass out for not eating.'

Sherlock wasn't really in the mood and a buzz clouded his brain so he just nodded and did what he was told to. He placed the empty mug again on the table. John finished eating and cleaned all up trying not to make much noise. He switched all the lights off and pulled all the curtains so the flat was completely in the dark.He well knew that light was tediously annoying for migraines as much as noises.

So he sat down again next to Sherlock, and the shaggy detective lay down curled up in a ball with his head on his lap. John combed his dark curls back in soft caresses, massaging his forehead and temples. He felt under his hands how Sherlock's body tensed and relaxed now and then as the waves of pain invaded his body.

John continued stroking his man's head for an hour. Running his fingers through the frowned forehead, following his hairline to his exposed ear and taking the delicate curve it made until reaching the beginning of the angular jaw and repeating again.

_John noticed that Sherlock body temperature rose dangerously as time passed, Sherlock was shivering in his lap, his eyes strongly shut._

_‘Sherlock?’_

_The detective didn’t seem to listen._

_John subtly put a hand on Sherlock’s wrist and placed the other on the forehead "_ really hot, heartbeat fast, definitely not good _"._

_He moved the slim body so he faced the ceiling, Sherlock didn’t even notice it._

_‘Sherlock? Sherlock wake up!’_

_He poked slightly the pale face. Nothing._

_‘Great.’ John muttered. He went to the kitchen grabbed a cloth and several ices._

_‘Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?’ He said putting the ice on his front. Sherlock moved slightly at the contact with the cloth._

_He took the thermometer from his medical kit he brought with him and put it on Sherlock's mouth._

The man was burning inside. John sighed realising he gave him some painkillers just an hour ago and he couldn't give him anything else, so he opted for giving Sherlock a cold bath.

John sat Sherlock up and the detective seemed to react then. He opened his eyes and looked at John. He looked exhausted.

'John?' His voice was hoarse from not speaking in a while.

'Listen up, Sherlock. You've got a fever, I guess you're feeling it, and I can't give you anything so you'll have to take a cold bath.'

Sherlock was actually shaking from cold and the idea made him shudder.

'Hmh?' John said to see if Sherlock agreed. He would force him anyway, if needed.

But Sherlock made things easy, he was more of a walking body without a soul than anything.

John accompanied him to their bathroom and sat him on the loo while he filled the bathtub with half-warm water.

He undressed Sherlock, with the help of the detective, and his skin was boiling and dry. He run his hands along the thin but muscled arms to calm down the shaking and kissed the tip of his nose.

_Sherlock smiled tiredly, still shaking._

_‘C’mon, stand up and enter in the shower.’_

_Sherlock pale form did as told and wincing he entered in the water._

_John put his hand on the top of the bathtub and watered his hair. The detective closed his eyes again._

_John spent the next hour watering Sherlock face, taking his temperature, and singing Beatles song -thing that always had helped him when he got fever. An hour and half passed and John kept humming Hey Jude absently until Sherlock joined the humming without opening his eyes. John froze at the sudden response. It was the first sound the detective had made since he was in the bathroom._

_‘You know the song?’_

_‘Who doesn’t?’ Said Sherlock looking at John from narrowed eyes._

_‘I don’t know I thought you would say that it’s stupid like the solar system and those things...’_

_‘I’m a musician, John.’_

_‘Right.’ John tried to hide his smile._

The army doctor dried Sherlock and dressed him again with fresh pyjamas. The man was shaking badly and his skin was still warmer than it should. He combed his dark hair back and decided not to use the dryer to avoid the loud noise that would worsen Sherlock’s headache.

All the while Sherlock kept his eyes closed. He just wanted, needed, the hated pain to stop. The detective headed to the bedroom once dressed while John tidied up the bathroom.

Sherlock climbed on to bed and wrapped himself on the sheets and blankets facing his back to the door.

When John was done with the bathroom he joined him in the bedroom.

He smiled warmly to see that the other man was a little ball curled on the bed.

'Sherlock, you can't put this much clothes on or the fever won't go.' He said lying next to him and resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder so he could see his face, it didn't work, though, since he had buried his face on the blankets.

Sherlock groaned.

'Come on.' He started to peel off all the bedclothes he had on top. 'I'll lay here with you.'

Sherlock groaned again.

Once he was uncovered Sherlock turned around to face the ceiling. John reached his tummy and started caressing up and down.

'I hate you.' Sherlock whispered.

'The feeling's mutual.' Breathed John giggling.

************

_Sherlock woke up with the touch of a cold hand on his cheek._

_‘You’re still a bit warm, how’s your head?’_

_‘It hurts.’_

_‘I’m going for the pills, stay here.’_

_Sherlock felt the form next to him get out of bed, he put his hands on his temples again “_ This is getting tedious. _” He thought. The detective couldn’t even open his eyes as light was already blinding him through the window “_ Photophobia, that’s just great. _”_

_Sherlock heard steps and quickly the cold hand was again on his face._

_‘Take this, it should help.’_

_He took the blessed medicine and turned trying to avoid the light._

_“_ God! I prefer to consume again and make this stop than keep like this another minute. _” He opened his eyes surprised and terrified by his own thoughts._

_John lied behind him putting an arm around his stomach and his head in his shoulder._

_‘Just let the pills do their work, then we could have breakfast or something.’ He muttered in his ear._

'John.' He called.

'Yes?'

'I don't like this.'

'Well, no one would.' Said the doctor confused as he caressed his chest.

'No. I mean- it's lasting too long. The pain should have had disappeared after getting some sleep and it haven't. This is not good.'

Sherlock turned his head around and opened his eyes to look at John. His eyes were really crystalline and John's breath caught.

'Maybe they are not the same migraines you got back then, Sherlock. They can last even a week. Let's pray it's not the case.'

He sighed, turned around and got up from bed.

'I'm going to take a quick shower, be right back in ten minute.'

He leaned forward to kiss Sherlock and left the room.

_John entered in the hot shower and sighed letting the water run through his exhausted body rubbing his eyes tiredly._

_Ten minutes later he was wrapped in a towel sitting at the edge of the bathtub “_ Ugh, I need sleep more. _” He thought as he felt so drained it was even difficult to think._

_He entered in the bedroom wearing only his pyjama trousers._

_‘Sherlock have you seen my long sleeve shirt? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’_

_Sherlock was sitting next to the night table, he had a glass of water on his hand was swallowing more anti-headache pills, John rushed to take them from him._

_‘Sherlock! Sherlock! how many have you taken?’_

_John grabbed him by his cheeks shaking him to answer, Sherlock opened his eyes._

_‘I just need this to STOP!’_

_‘You can’t do this, you idiot! This is worse!’_

John pulled Sherlock stood up and tossed aside the glass and pills.

'Sometimes I don't really know what you use that brilliant mind of yours for!' Sherlock had swallowed nearly six or so. John groaned angrily. 'Why do you make things so complicated?!'

Sherlock's world was blurry by then and it was starting to be difficult to him to get some balance.

John grabbed him by his shoulders to steady him.

'Ugh... See?! You're getting into a high now. Jesus Christ!'

John held Sherlock's hand and pulled him through the corridor to the bathroom.

‘This is going to be disgusting but you've earned it.'

He slammed the door behind them.

'Kneel.' John pointed to the ground in front of the loo. Sherlock looked at him frowning. 'I said kneel!'

He pushed Sherlock down by his shoulders and knelt behind him putting one leg between his, holding him by his left shoulder.

'Open your mouth.' Sherlock turned his head and looked at him and his eyes widened. 'Sherlock.' John's tone was more than angry and really demanding. He felt guilty shouting at him with a migraine but he was scared but he didn’t want Sherlock to know so he acted angry.

The man opened his mouth shyly and John pushed two fingers to his throat. It took nothing to Sherlock to throw up the pills.

John stood up washed his hands and left Sherlock panting sitting on the cold floor. He didn't want to continue shouting or acting somehow violent, so better if he left.

_John walked into the lounge, his hands on fists, and came to stood before the window. After Sherlock throwing up the real anger came, he was seeing red. He was furious, really, really mad._

_After some minutes of deep breathing he heard steps and stumbles on behind him, he didn’t turn._

_‘John?...’_

_He heard Sherlock fall to the floor and rise again, he still didn’t turn._

_‘… John, John, I didn’t…’ Sherlock drawled, still a bit high from the effect of the pills._

_‘You_ what _, Sherlock?’_

_He turned to see the detective hanging on the door frame, looking like a scared child._

_‘You didn’t mean to do that? You didn’t think? You’re sorry? Well, FUCK. OFF.’_

_‘J-Jo—‘_

_‘NO, Sherlock, I don’t want any excuses, I don’t want to hear anything, just UGH! Were you even thinking? You could have got you into a coma! You could have overdosed_ again _! What do you expect from me?! I’m not your mother! I can’t be watching you all the time! I can’t just stroke your hair until you feel fine again! NO, I’m not gonna do that!’_

_‘But—‘_

_‘JUST LISTENT TO ME WOULD YOU! It hurts, I know it hurts, but you can’t just do things like this, you have to_ think _before you act, think in the consequences, in the effects. What do you think it would have happened to you if I wasn’t here? If Mycroft wouldn’t be watching? You think you are invincible, that you can take care of everything, that you have everything solved, you and your brain, you think it’s enough, WELL IT’S FUCKING NOT! You’re an idiot, a completely self-destructive idiot! Let me tell you something, if it hurts you take it, if you think you can’t bear it you go and fucking resist until it doesn’t hurt anymore, you can’t just do things like this!! Did. You. Understand?_

_‘I-I…’_

_‘OH! and other thing, if you_ dare _to ever do something like that again I would beat the crap out of you so hard that you would wish you weren’t born, we clear?’_

_‘Yes-s’_

_‘Okay, if you want something to eat there’s the kitchen. I’m going out, need fresh air.’_

John passed by Sherlock not looking at him and headed to Sherlock's bedroom, their bedroom now. He changed clothes, grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him.

He left Sherlock alone with his silence. Sherlock hadn't moved from the spot. He hit his head slightly against the wall, once, twice, while muttering 'Stupid, stupid, stupid...'

 

************

 

John walked quickly, his fists clenched next to his side. The fresh air hurting him inside from the strong breath he took. He just couldn't believe it. He just wanted to scream and knock certain detective down.

He felt a burning anger in his chest and head. He clenched his jaw and groaned. “ _I'm going to kill him._ ” He thought. “ _He just- ugh_ ” He groaned again. “ _He just doesn't realise he hurts me and sends me to despair every time he does these bloody idiocies. The poor sod, he is going to well regret this, he better do._ ”

He pulled his arms up and pressed his hands against his temples, he was really going ballistic.

John stopped walking. He breathed in and out, slowly. A terrible headache was starting at the back of his skull. “ _Brilliant._ ” He thought.

 

************

  
John came back an hour later. He decided not to kill Sherlock, _for now_.

The flat was silent when he stepped in. He shuddered. He looked around for Sherlock in the living room, no signal of the languid pale body. For a second, he regretted leaving.

He walked towards their bedroom and pushed the half-opened door. Sherlock was there, curled into a ball, in John's side of the bed, deep in sleep.John released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He sighed and cursed himself for loving that man way too much.

_John left his jacket and turned the heat on, he was freezing cold as the only thing he was wearing below was a military t-shirt he had not used in years, it was the first thing he found between the rage of getting out of the flat._

_He turned the TV on and curled into the couch, definitely decided to lie there some hours without thinking._

************

_The early night was setting outside when he heard a weird noise on the stairs, he frowned and went to check if the bathroom tap was dripping again, but he found a six-feet detective crouching just behind the door, apparently “spying”._

_‘Caught on the act, how long have you been here?’_

_‘Ehm, well, ehm, a half an hour or so.’ Sherlock said passing a hand through his curls._

_John sighed frustrated._

_‘Can you just stand up please?’_

_Sherlock stood without making eye contact._

_“_ What the hell, is he blushing? _” John thought._

_‘Uhm, are- are you still mad?’_

_John raised an eyebrow at the question._

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Oh, okay, that’s okay, I’m just- I’m going to the b-bedroom again.’_

‘Sherlock?’ The detective turned around with a bit of relief when John called him.

‘Yes?’

‘Are you feeling better?’

Some feet separated him.

‘Oh, ah- yeah.’ John nodded and continued at his business. Sherlock sighed and headed to their bedroom.

 

************

 

At 1am a weight sunk on the mattress next to Sherlock that woke him up. He felt John spooning him, putting a hand over his hip.

‘I’m sorry.’ Said Sherlock, still half asleep.

‘Shut up.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: overdose


	8. Chapter 8

‘John?’

Silence.

‘John?!’

Sherlock was rushing through the flat, but it felt odd. The wall paper wasn’t the same shade of colours and the floor felt weird under his feet.

He needed to find John. He didn’t know why, but John was in danger.

_He ran downstairs and tried to open the front door_

_‘John… John…’_

_The door didn’t open_

_‘Your friends will die if you don’t.’_

_‘No, stop, wait!’_

_Sherlock shot the wall with a gun he just realised he had._

_Nothing._

_‘Three bullets.’_

_‘I’ll do it, please!’_

_‘Three victims.’_

_‘JOHN!’_

_He woke up sitting on the bed, panting, covered in sweat._

_John was by his side, a hand on Sherlock’s chest, he was already checking his vitals._

_‘Hold still, Sherlock.’ He said checking his irises with a lantern._

The man was shaking and looked terrified.

‘Shh, easy, Sherlock.’ He said rubbing his hand on the detective's arm, Sherlock reached out and grabbed John by his shirt and pulled him forward, embracing him. Sherlock was shaking violently, he winced.

‘John-’ The shaking prevented him from talking ‘I’m- I’m going- going into an att-attack.’

Sherlock’s hand clenched on the back of John’s shirt. Sherlock panted, groaned and his back arched. Without letting go John.

‘Oh fuck!’ His head hurt again, too much to cope with. He wished he could just rip it off. ‘John! Help- help me! OH FUCK!’

John was holding him tightly against him.

‘I know, I know, your pupils were blown out.’

John squeezed his arms around Sherlock’s middle. When the first wave of spasms went through the detective’s body he climbed off the bed to reach for the hypo.

_John put himself over Sherlock, preventing him from moving as he stabbed the hypo deep on Sherlock’s leg._

_There were some horrible seconds of shaking and Sherlock went still._

_He got out of bed, left the wasted hypo on the desk and reached for his diary._

_“_ Wednesday 3am: Nightmare + attack, there’s no signs of any of them remitting, it’s over he needs the pills _” John rubbed his eyes._

_‘The no-dreams pills.’ He whispered._

_He didn’t like the idea, at all, but if he was right Sherlock hadn’t had a night of rest since he overdosed, and who knows since when he didn’t sleep before that.  He needs to rest or he would just die from exhaustion._

_“Call Sarah.” He wrote._

John was really concerned about Sherlock’s exhaustion. The man had gone through a migraine the past two days, barely ate, barely slept, nearly overdosed, nightmare and attack.

He shook his head. Sherlock had a hell on earth and so did he. This situation was overwhelming him.

Not so long ago. 3 weeks, he thought Sherlock was dead and buried. He came back from the nothing, overdosed and broken. Things went for better but it was more a switch from nightmare to nightmare.

The fact that rehab was taking really long discouraged him to no end. He wanted Sherlock back, his missing Sherlock, not that drugged, disturbed, lanky man.

He sighed, no sleep for him today.

************

_Sherlock woke up feeling dizzy._

_He groaned, the room was spinning and he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet._

_He lay there what he thought it was half an hour, his mind going at the speed of light, for once he wished he would stop thinking._

_When he felt strong enough he managed to stumble on into the bathroom and washed his face._

_Sherlock closed his eyes when dizziness took over him again, he was holding onto the sink white-fisted._

_The detective felt something climbing behind him, he let out a muffled cry of pure fear._

_‘Shh, just breath.’ A familiar voice said on his ear._

_John was holding him from behind, more to prevent him from falling to the floor than for affection. He put two steady fingers on Sherlock’s neck, taking his pulse._

Sherlock turned around slowly and leaned against the sink. He reached out for John and the doctor embraced him without any argument, holding him by his lower back. Sherlock rested his chin on John’s left shoulder, carefully. He closed his eyes and held on John’s t-shirt, like a little kid looking for safety on his mother.

John ran his hands under Sherlock’s worn t-shirt and caressed softly the curve of his lower back.

‘I ordered new pills to stop the nightmares.’ Whispered John.

Sherlock nodded. “ _Sod the pills, sod everything_.”

Some seconds of silence.

‘How are you feeling about it?’

‘I don’t care, John.’ His deep voice echoing through John’s chest. ‘I trust you completely, do whatever you feel is the best, just, make this finish soon, for me, and for you.’

_John sighed._

_'C’mon, go to bed again, you should start feeling better now that you woke up.'_

_Sherlock nodded but didn't move._

_'Let’s go, I need to take your temperature once more, just to be sure the fever is gone.'_

_Two minutes later Sherlock was sitting at the edge of the bed with a thermometer on his mouth._

_'Where did I leave my dressing gown? It’s not on the laundry.' John muttered to himself burying his hand on the drawer._

_'I hid dit'_

_'You what?'_

_Sherlock took the thermometer out of his mouth so he could talk._

_'I hid it, as all your long sleeve clothes. I  noticed that you always wear long sleeves, I know what you are going to say "It's winter, Sherlock" but no that’s not the reason. You've been wearing them for a long time, since you hands are more tanned than your arms; it's been more than a year. So you wear them also on summer. That brings again the question, why? Well, from the facts I would say that you don’t want other people to see your cuts, that’s understandable. But since I’m the only person who normally sees you and I know about it, it doesn’t make sense. So that leads us to the fact that you probably feel_ ashamed _and you don’t want to see them yourself. I would bet both cases are true. And I don’t want you to feel ashamed or worry about other people, so I did the most logical thing. I hid your clothes.’_

_John looked at him wordlessly._

_‘Oh look, I don’t have fever anymore!’ Sherlock exclaimed with a stupid smile on his face showing him the thermometer._

John instinctively thumbed his right wrist, the most damaged one, and pressed both hands against his chest. He did not even notice Sherlock said he didn't have fever any more. He felt instantly vulnerable.

Sherlock cocked his head and looked at John with concern. His heart skipped a beat seeing John so lost.

'John?’

The doctor came back from his thoughts, shook his head and pretended to be okay, but he knew he couldn't fool Sherlock.

'Come here.' The baritone voice demanded.

'Why?'

'Come here, you idiot.'

Sherlock giggled softly at the miserable intend of John at hiding his sudden sadness.

John paced towards him and Sherlock, without standing up, encircled the tiny exhausted military-shaped body. He rested his head on John's belly and listened to his breathing while John stroked his dark curls. Sherlock suddenly tilted his body backwards, pushing John with him and both men collapsed on the bed, John over Sherlock. A little smirk crossed John's face. “ _Good_ ” Thought Sherlock.

The detective kissed the tip of John's nose, then his left cheek, three kisses crossing his jaw line, his chin, his lower lip, a bite on the upper one, another kiss on his right cheek, on his right ear and a whisper.

'I love you.'

_John lowered his head until it rested on Sherlock’s shoulder. He shifted his body so he was lying on his side, still on the top of Sherlock, who was holding him by his hip._

_‘Am I that obvious?’_

_‘No you are not, haven’t you noticed it took me weeks to find that out. God, I’m getting slow.’_

_‘Shut up.’ John said patting Sherlock's face. ‘I’m sorry.’ He added._

_‘For what?’_

_‘For not being “fine” again, you’re back and everything, but I still sometimes feel… I’m sorry.’_

_‘You don’t have to be sorry, John’._

_‘Yes, I have, I should be stronger, I should be just fine by now, I don’t know why I can’t be just fine.’_

_‘Are you serious? Have you seen me lately? I’m a complete mess, I think you’re doing extraordinary, maybe you just need a little push into the right way, that’s what I’m trying to do.’_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The price of a night without nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so sorry it took us so long to post this!  
> Hopefully it won't happen again

John came back from picking up Sherlock's new pills to find Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock discussing over crap telly.

The detective was in his deep blue pyjama pants and grey t-shirt, wild black curls - _wilder than usual_ , noticed John- knees to his chest, all curled up on top of his chair.

The kind woman was sitting opposite to him, on John's chair, her skinny legs crossed at the ankles and her hands on her lap holding a cup of tea.

 John had asked Mrs. Hudson before he left to the surgery where he met up with Sarah, if she would be so kind to keep up an eye on Sherlock, and the landlady agreed instantly. John thanked her several times, also thanked her for the hot meals she now and then prepared for her boys, as well as the shopping she did for them and other several helpful favours that she had been carrying on since Sherlock reappeared from the death.

 He watched at Sherlock frustrating yelling at the machine and Mrs. Hudson giggling at the incoherent rage of his taller boy.

John smiled warmly and kept that moment in his good memories stock in his brain, may be useful in further occasion when things turn bad again “ _which will certain do”_ thought the doctor.

 

_************_

_‘Are you ready?’_

_‘When you are.’_

_‘I’m not kidding Sherlock.’_

_‘Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.’_

_‘Okay, it says that the first time you would sleep a lot, like at least fifteen hours, and it would be reducing to a normal schedule of seven or eight hours when you start to use them regularly.’_

_‘UGH! It sounds boring!’_

_‘I don’t like it either, but we have to do this.’_

_‘You know how many thing I could do in fifteen hours?’_

_‘Yeah drive me mad for example. Let’s get started.’_

_‘Are there anything that you can use to wake me up after I take them?’_

_‘Well, very few things, all of them not recommended, just let’s do this, the earlier the better.’_

_‘But what about you?’_

_‘What about me?’_

_‘You won’t sleep fifteen hours, what are you going to do?’_

_‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll watch TV or something, it’s not such a long period of time.’_

Sherlock stared at him.

'John-'

 'Sherlock there's no way you change my mind. I'll be okay, I promise. I'll be sleeping to half of the time you are so please, just let's do this.'

John stretched out his arm holding the little pill for Sherlock -blue on the top, white on the bottom- that was sitting on the bed edge.

Sherlock sighed, rubbed his eyes and took the pill. He swallowed it with some water and looked at John.

The doctor bent over him and brushed his lips with a kiss.

'Sleep tight.' And kissed him again properly.

Sherlock lay down and covered himself with the sheets and blankets and John turned off the lights and nodded in the darkness.

John came back to the kitchen to clean up the dishes they left after dinner.

He looked at Sherlock's dish, he had barely eaten despite his insistence. He sighed deeply and picked up the two dishes.

He made some tea and sat on his chair in front of Sherlock's empty one. He glanced at his watch. 10 pm. Sherlock should wake up more or less at 1 pm the next day. John didn't like the entire situation but they had no other way, if only.

John finished the cuppa and headed to their bedroom.

He checked Sherlock's pulse -perfectly steady- and brushed his rough fingers through the curls.

He changed his street clothes for his pyjama.

 _“Oh Sherlock, I'm certainly going to knock you down some day”_ He thought when he saw that all his t-shirts were of short sleeves.

 

John slid under the bedclothes and leaned against Sherlock's back. The detective’s stupid habit of sleeping on his left side, giving him his back, annoyed the doctor. But just today. Today, most accurately, tonight, everything annoyed him. He wished he could switch off the world.

_John fell asleep nearly immediately, having into account that he hadn’t slept six hours straight on the last few nights it was not surprising._

_************_

_The army doctor opened his eyes and felt refreshed; he looked at the alarm clock. 9am. He had slept nearly ten hours._

_He stretched still on the bed and turned to take Sherlock pulse and frowned, slow, slower than normal, it was not good, but it was an announced side effect._

_John wrote everything on the diary and spent a good time watching Sherlock sleep, when his stomach started to complain he got out of bed._

_John ate a complete breakfast, thinking about it he didn’t remember eating so much on the morning since 3 years ago. He smiled._

_After that, he opted for a long and relaxing shower, a bit of general cleaning and another good meal._

_After washing the dishes he sat on the couch, decided to watch crappy telly waiting for Sherlock to wake up but he ended up sleeping before the TV screen._

_When he woke up again, nearly four hours later, he was confused and disoriented. He looked at the clock and felt his heart skip a bit. Sherlock should be up by that time._

_He went to the bedroom to find the detective still lying on the bed, completely asleep, he took his pulse. Even more slow._

_John started to panic._

_‘It said at least fifteen hours, at least, this is normal, relax.’ He muttered to himself, but he was starting to feel really uncomfortable with the whole situation, the doctor inside him was getting tense._

He took Sherlock's pulse again and shook his head. He was feeling really numb.

'Focus, you idiot.'

He closed his eyes briefly and considered the possible scenarios if he woke him up or not. He stared at Sherlock's face again. He looked so in peace but still lilac bruises tinted the skin under his eyes.

He placed a hand on top of Sherlock's shoulder.

'Sherlock.' He whispered as he lowered himself to be at the same level as the detective.

'Sherlock.'

His guts twisted and he started biting his lip.

'Come on, Sherlock.' He whispered again in frustration shaking softly the man by his shoulder.

Sherlock groaned and John's eyes widened. Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, so slowly it felt like minutes for John.

The detective called his name.

'I'm here.'

John smiled at him and Sherlock stretched out an arm to reach his left cheek and he caressed it.

'John,' Sherlock's voice was a quiet whisper. 'I can't breath-'

_John heart skipped a beat as he saw Sherlock open his mouth to breath and failed._

_He immediately put him in a sitting position. The detective panted but air didn’t reach his lungs._

_‘Come here, Sherlock, relax.’_

_John used all his strength to get Sherlock out of the bed and sat him on the floor, he sat behind him, chest against back, and pulled the detective head on his shoulder, his arms pressing him tight, John took a deep breath._

_‘Relax, Sherlock, close your eyes, concentrate on my breathing, try to imitate it.’_

_Sherlock nodded slightly as he was starting to feel dizzy._

_‘Better? Is it better? Don’t talk, just nod.’_

_Sherlock didn’t move._

_John started to hum the first song that came to his head, as the rhythm and the vibrancy of his chest could help Sherlock lungs to open._

_Seven horrid minutes he spent like that, humming and rocking Sherlock like a child until he felt the detective chest rise and fall with more frequency._

‘John-’ Sherlock’s voice was a weak whisper.

‘Sherlock, no, not now.’ John eyes were closed.

Dead silence.

‘How much?’

‘Nearly eighteen hours.’

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes John caressed his chest up and down and thanked whoever that it was moving.

Twenty minutes flew away until John spoke again.

‘Do you feel like moving?’

Sherlock nodded.

He pushed the detective up and steadied him. He laced his fingers with Sherlock’s and guided him to the kitchen.

Sherlock sat down while John prepared him a toast and tea.

‘Breakfast at 5 pm.’ Muttered Sherlock and smirked at John.

The doctor sat down in front of him. He sighed and massaged his head while the taller man ate the toast.

‘The pills were a mistake, sorry.’

‘I actually rested. No nightmares. No dreams. The bad thing was- well…’

_John handed him another plate. Sherlock made a disgusted expression._

_‘I don’t want-‘_

_‘You’ll eat everything, Sherlock, it’s been more than half a day since you ate, and your last meal was so insignificant that I don’t understand how you still can walk.’_

_‘But, I don’t need-‘_

_‘Yes, you do, it’s either this or me knocking you down and putting you an IV, which do you prefer?’_

_Sherlock looked at him defiantly but took the toast and bit it._

_John covered his face with his hands._

_‘Are you okay?’_

_‘Yeah, yeah, I’m just trying to relax.’_

_‘What did you do while I- you know.’_

_‘Nothing, watch TV, I told you I would be fine.’_

_‘Show me your arms.’_

_‘Sherlock!’_

_John looked at him._

_‘John, please...’_

_John put both arms on the table and looked away._

He felt how Sherlock’s finger ran through his right wrist and rested his hand on the top of his. John looked at him.

‘Sherlock, eat, please.’ His tone was serious.

John stood up and walked away.

‘John, what’s wrong?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not.’

John chuckled and turned around to stare at Sherlock. He had that look of sheer anger, that murderous gaze trade of John H. Watson.

‘Of course I’m not Sherlock! I’m not!’

John laughed again, then suddenly stopped, pinched his nose and took a deep breath. He looked at Sherlock

‘Nothing works, nothing gets better.’ John took some seconds and grunted loudly. ‘I can’t take it any more. I can’t see you like this. I can’t… I just bloody can’t!’

John turned around to go away but stopped and looked at Sherlock again, opened his mouth to speak but didn’t say anything. He sighed, waved his hand and walked away.

_Sherlock stood up and followed him with a toast still on his hand. He grabbed John by his wrist and forced him to turn around._

_'I had some rest, John, that's something good, right?_

_'Yeah, it is, but-'_

_'And you slept too, quite a lot I would say.'_

_'Yes, but-'_

_'And you ate properly too, and I'm eating now, and you spent the afternoon by your side and felt fine.'_

_'Sher-'_

_'How is that not better?_

_'It is.'_

_'So?'_

_'I know, I know, but the pills-'_

_'The pills worked, John, maybe they worked too much, but they worked, I can't even remember when was the last time I slept without nightmares, so I'm glad I took them.'_

_Sherlock hugged the doctor putting him close with one arm and eating the rest of the toast with the other hand, just to make his point._

Sherlock reassurance made John feel calmer but still his mind processed all the past events and everything that was yet to come. He just felt so angry. Why him? Why Sherlock? As if both of them hadn't had enough before they met each other. Maybe they both were destinated to suffer like bastards until their last breath.

'Can you give me some seconds?'

Sherlock broke the hug and finished the toast and looked John go. He followed him quietly.

John turned around and looked at him murderous.

‘Sherlock. I. Said. Give. Me. A. Fucking. Second.'

Sherlock's eyes widened and intended approaching John but a roar from the doctor stopped him.

'Sherlock, it's you or the bloody wall!'

Sherlock cocked his head and frowned.

'John, for God's sake, calm-'

'Sherlock don't dare me.'

The detective suddenly stretched out and he appeared taller in front of John. A cocky smile drew through his angular lips and waved his hands towards his face.

'Come on, Captain.'

'This is not a game Sherlock!'

John took some steps closer to him with his fist clenched and ready to knock him down.

Sherlock closed his eyes and he was already nearly feeling the pain when he heard a strong noise against the wall.

'You fucking git!'

_Sherlock opened his eyes and rushed to John, taking his fist in his hand._

_‘John you nearly broke you fingers!’_

_John looked at him murderous._

_‘You’ll need that bandaged.’_

_‘Oh! Don’t go all doctor on me!’_

_‘John-’_

_‘Just shut up and thank it’s not your jaw.’_

_John took his hand from him and left the room._

_Sherlock looked at the hole on the wall, a bloody big hole_ “Damn, this man has so much strength” _He thought. He sighed and rubbed his eyes_ “This will be a long day, well, evening”

 _Deciding that the best thing he could do for his physical state was to leave John alone for some time he headed back to the kitchen and ate the rest of the toasts_ “At least this would make John happy.”

 _But Sherlock felt so bloody worried alone in that room. He worried about John and his reactions. He worried that John hurt himself again, and then he realised he just did. He just saw how John nearly lost the use of a hand._ “Can that be considered self-harm? No, John used to punch things three years back, but still, on theory it is, right?”

_Sherlock sighed again as his heart ache, he cursed John Watson and the feelings involving him that made him so powerless, it was frustrating._

Sherlock wandered around the house for an hour. Sitting down, getting up, walking through the living room, switching on the TV and switching it off when it became irritating.

He waited an hour for John to come out of the dark corridor. He sighed. From the noise of the slammed door he knew the other man was in the bathroom and he heard some open taps so he was probably taking a bath.

Sherlock stepped towards the corridor -the fifth time in the last ten minutes. He rested a hand on the wall and listened to the soft noises that came from the bathroom. _“John”_ He took some steps and stopped again. _“Should I? He shouldn't be alone but-“_

He was two feet away from the door. He stretched his arm out and slid his fingers down the door.

'John.' He dared to speak.

Silence.

'John?'

He pushed the door open slowly and John appeared crawled in the bathtub, steaming water surrounding his knackered body. He looked directly at Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock closed the door behind him.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock, I shouldn't have acted like that.' He whispered, weakly, as the detective sat down next to him, legs crossed.

'It's okay, I understand.' Sherlock said and he rested his chin on the edge of the bathtub, wild curls hanging in front of his icy eyes.

'Show me your hand.'

John rose his hand from under the water. The knuckles of his left hand were all swallowed, reddened with some bloodstained scratches.

'Can you move your fingers?'

'Yes, but it hurts.'

_John winced when Sherlock took his hand in his._

_‘Do you want me to bandage it now or you want to do it yourself later?’_

_‘I have a kit is on the second drawer.’_

_Sherlock rose and smiled to himself as he searched for the medical kit._

_‘First you should dry it, and disinfect it just in case.’_

_‘Okay, John.’_

_Sherlock began to carefully dry the hand with a towel._

_John panted._

_‘I’m sorry, tell me if it hurts.’_

_‘It hurts even if you don’t touch it. Just do it.’_

_Sherlock continued and cursed internally when one of the knuckles started to bleed deeply._

_‘Okay, now grab some alcohol and put some on the towel, don’t pay attention to the blood just be sure you disinfect the whole thing.’_

_Sherlock did as he was told, but at the first touch of the alcohol John sobbed from pain._

_‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ Sherlock exclaimed quickly._

_‘Shut up, it has to hurt. Continue.’_

_‘But-‘_

_‘Just get on with it!’_

_Sherlock, hating himself, continued cleaning the injury as John hid his face in his arm and closed his eyes._

_When he finished, he gently placed a bandage around John’s hand._

_‘That’s it.’ Sherlock said trying to smile, he only wanted to see the doctor’s face, he had been really quiet during the entire proceeding._

_‘John?’_

_Silence._

_‘Do you want to stay on the bath some more time or…’_

_‘It’s okay, you can go, I’ll be outside in five.’_

Sherlock walked outside the steamy room biting his lip. He sighed knowing that John would take his time to go out. He didn't want to leave him alone but he didn't want to annoy the doctor and less now that he was angry, upset and in pain, or maybe that was why he should stay. Sherlock groaned in frustration.

'How can people be good at this?' He muttered and walked away to the living room and sat down on his chair, crossing his impossibly long legs by the ankles.

'Sherlock!'

He heard John called him after some minutes of dead silence around the flat. Sherlock jumped from his chair and nearly ran to the bathroom.

He slammed the door open.

'Are you okay?'

His eyes were wide and he was nearly panting.

John chuckled.

'I shouldn't have shouted.' He giggled.

Sherlock's heart pounded. He smiled back.

'I need you to help me getting dressed.' Said John holding a t-shirt with his right hand. Sherlock entered and closed the door behind him.

He took John's t-shirt and he pushed it down John's damp hair and head to his neck. He carefully widened the left sleeve hole and John passed the damaged hand through without touching the cloth. They repeated the same process with the right sleeve but they didn't take the same care. After that Sherlock dried energetically his hair before he combed it.

When he finished he fixed the doctor with a steady gaze and then smiled at him. John smiled back and pushed himself on his tiptoes to kiss him.

'Thank you.'

'Yes, yes, now go and rest while I clean up this a bit.' He waved his hand.

 _John went to the their bedroom, grabbed the bottle of painkillers and swallowed two pills_ “God it’s been long since I didn’t punch something that hard.” _He thought._

_Sherlock came in the room and they looked at each other in the eye, just some feet separating them._

_‘Sooo… a hole on the wall?’_

_‘I know, I’ll fix that when I can use my hand again.’_

_‘No it’s okay, it makes the flat a little more us.’_

_‘Are you seriously suggesting that a hole on the wall makes the flat pretty?’_

_‘Not pretty. Just more us.’_

_‘I’ll fix it.’_

_‘You didn’t fix the bullet holes or the smile, I would even say that you also shot the wall a couple of times-’_

_‘Why are we arguing over this?’_

_Silence. Both looked away._

_‘What do you want to do?’_

_‘I don’t know. I don’t care.’_

_More silence._

_‘We could watch a movie or something.’_

_‘You’re an insufferable bastard watching movies.’_

_‘But you like that.’_

_They stared at one another again. John smile was so quick that Sherlock nearly missed it._

_‘Okay, we could try a movie.’_

_They moved to the sofa, sitting near but not touching each other._

_The movie started and they didn’t last long without commenting it, Sherlock criticizing every detail and John smiling at it. Sherlock felt so relieved._

_Eventually, and without any of them been aware, John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock put a leg over John’s. A hand was placed on Sherlock’s knee and lips brushed one dark blond head and when the movie ended with a rather predictable final both were absently smiling._

_The flat was dark as the afternoon passed. Neither of them were in the mood to cook dinner so they ended up ordering chinese and eating absently in the kitchen._

'I should take the pills so we can go to sleep.' Said Sherlock shifting his weight as he passed John the food box to throw away.

'Sherlock, I don't know if you should.'

John turned to look at him in the eyes. He didn't trust those pills any more. He didn't want Sherlock to go through another episode and he didn't want to be alone for so many hours. He knew he wouldn't be able to get two hours straight of sleep because of the insufferable pain in his hand, now muffed by painkillers. It'd mean nearly 15 hours or so completely alone and he didn't want that, not now. But Sherlock needed to rest.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

'John, we are not going over this again.' Sherlock shook his head. 'I'm taking them, you're coming to sleep with me and when you wake up check me, if my pulse is down again, wake me up, deal?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

John couldn't do anything but nod.

'Deal.'

After they got everything cleaned up John handed him the blue pill and a glass of water. Before he swallowed it he looked at John.

'It's really late so I will be sleeping most of the day. You said everyday I'll sleep less until I get in a right schedule, didn't you?'

John nodded.

'Okay.'

Sherlock shifted his gaze from John to the pill and to John again.

'Please, John, eat while I'm sleeping and distract yourself, ask Mrs. Hudson to help you change the bandages and don't do any idiocy that can reopen the wounds.'

Sherlock fixed John with one look and he swallowed the medicine.

'Let's go to bed.' John said.

Sherlock smiled at him and encircled his middle with one pale arm and they both made their way to their bedroom.

_They covered themselves with several blankets and turned the light off._

_Immediately Sherlock turned his back to the doctor._

_‘Good night, John.’ He said._

_John frowned, suddenly upset._

_‘Sherlock?’_

_‘Yes, John.’_

_‘Could- could you at least- I don’t know, embrace me?’ He said awkwardly but he hadn’t time for shyness or embarrassment._

_Sherlock turned his head to face his lover’s face._

_‘You always sleep on your side, it’s a bit frustrating.’_

_‘Oh, yeah, of course.’ Said Sherlock feeling a bit guilty at the look on John’s eyes._

_He turned and took John by his hip to put him close, Sherlock chin resting on the top of the doctor’s head._

_‘Better?’_

_‘Yes.’ The doctor smiled against his chest._

_‘Good night, John.’_

_‘Good night, Sherlock.’_

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auto-medicating was never recommendable.

_John woke up sweating and panting, flashes of Sherlock’s dead eyes staring at the grey sky still haunted him and the smell of blood threatened with drowning him. He brought a bandaged hand to his mouth and repressed a sob._

_He was trying to get his breathing back when a muffled sound behind him made him turn. He looked back to see Sherlock snoring, his hands stroking the sheets where John had just been._

_John leaned slowly back down, facing the taller man, and let Sherlock hug him again._

_Maybe it was his imagination but Sherlock seem to smile a bit._

“He’s alive.” _John thought letting out a long sigh._

_Carefully he took Sherlock’s pulse. Slow, but not as slow as the day before, maybe this time the pills worked out better._

_He spent a couple of hours just watching his detective breathe and trying to forget the sight of his blood on the pavement._

_When the light from the window turned brighter he got himself out of bed, not before leaving a kiss on Sherlock’s nose._

He glanced at his watch. Midday. Counting they did late nights the day before, Sherlock had been sleeping 10 hours so far so he would be sleeping at least 3 or 4 hours more.

He went to the kitchen decided to cook something for them both so he would have everything prepared when the detective woke up.

When he tried to open the fridge with his left hand a wave of pain shook his body and he took his hand back immediately. The wounds were small but nasty and reopened with the slightest touch. He groaned as he saw the white bandages stained in pink.

The army doctor opened one cabinet searching for a couple painkillers. That should do. He swallowed them and made his way to Mrs. Hudson flat. He knocked at the door, twice, and didn’t get any answer so he sighed and climbed up the stairs again and sat at the kitchen table, still in his pyjamas.

Silence surrounded him and he felt his heart pounding and his head buzzing. He shook his head. _“John, don't start.”_ He looked at his hand again. He needed new bandages and to disinfect it again, the biggest wound was clearly reopened. _“Sherlock's gonna kill me.”_

He picked his kit at the bathroom and went back to the kitchen table. He opened it and grabbed everything he needed: cotton, gauzes, new bandages and alcohol. He carefully removed the dirty bandages, tossing them apart. His hand looked awful. All lilac, blue and yellow, stained with blood and all swollen up.

He cleaned the wounds with an alcohol-soaked gauze while wincing at every touch. He fight to keep down a sob, after all that was nothing, he had had a lot worse. After five horrid minutes his hand was clean and perfectly bandaged again.

_Cooking with one hand was extremely difficult, not to mention slow and kind of dangerous. When he nearly poured hot oil on himself due his clumsy right hand he wished he had picked an easier dish to make._

_In the end the food was edible and his stomach was complaining so he decided to eat on his own and put Sherlock’s part on the fridge._

_Trying to use a knife was also an adventure of its own, it took him a whole hour to finish his plate._

_John looked at the dirty dishes on the sink and sighed frustrated._ “Great! I can’t even do the housework now, good job, John! You’re truly useless.”

_The doctor moved his fingers, testing his limits. It hurt, but it was bearable. Maybe another set of painkillers would take the pain completely away, and after all he had been taking them for three years, and not always because he needed them strictly, but he would never say that to Sherlock._

_So his body could stand a little over the recomendable dosage._

_Another sigh and another two pills down._ “Yes, that’s better.”

_He proceeded to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen with the constant sound of the radio as his only companion._

_When John finished he felt proud to actually have done something useful for the flat, it had been such a mess lately._

_He looked at his watch. 3:17 pm. Time to check on Sherlock._

_In the bedroom, John carefully took the detective wrist and counted his heart beats. As slow as the last time. Not bad._

_Sherlock snored and John couldn't help but smile, he placed his good hand on the detective’s head and sat on the floor besides the bed. The doctor leaned on the drawer and half closed his eyes and peaceful silence filled the room._

_For a moment John happy, just happy to be there beside his detective seeing him sleep like a child, seeing him snore like any other person, feeling his skin on his hand-_ “Wait!” Something was wrong. _He tried to move his right hand but it felt odd as if he didn't have total control over it. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he realised he was seeing blurry on the edges. ‘Oh crap!’ He hissed and tried to stand using the drawer to balance himself._

“Okay, okay, calm down, it’s nothing, you’re a bit high from the pills, you can handle this.” _He stood properly, walked two steps but his legs gave out and he fell flat to the floor again._ “Fuck! this is not even normal!”

_Again on his feet his body felt distant, his senses were numbed and everything kept getting alarmingly blurry._

_‘Shit.’ He muttered as he walked four steps and was lucky enough to grab the door frame before falling again._

_‘Sher-Sherlock!’ His voice was low and he couldn't focus his eyes any more and the room was spinning in weird angles around him._

His body started shaking slightly and he couldn’t quite concentrate on anything. He was lying still his eyes closed but still seeing spinning colours and forms. He wanted to throw up but his body didn’t answer any of his requests.

And as if John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had some kind of telepathic link, Sherlock groaned and came back from his sleep, confused and suddenly alarmed, knowing something was wrong.

He sat up in a jump, like if being short of air, gasping. He turned his head around and saw John's lifeless form shaking on the cold cruel floor. It took second -not even that- for Sherlock to kneel next to his doctor.

'John?’

He shook the man by his shoulders. No response. Sherlock's eyes widened. He immediately searched for John's wrists. No new cuts. He sighed in relief, at least it wasn't that. He neared his ear to John's nose. He was breathing. Sherlock’s fingers pressed the spot under his jaw, his pulse was frantic.

'You utter bastard what have you done?!' Sherlock was starting to panic and he shook John again. The man groaned this time. 'Come on, John.'

He shook him again. Sherlock groaned, he hated not knowing and he had absolutely no idea what to do to save his man.

'Come on.' This time it sounded more of a beg than a demand. John's body convulsed strongly under Sherlock's hand. He found the movements familiar. Sherlock frowned.

'Oh my god, John!' Sherlock whispered and in a smart movement he shifted John's weight to lie him on his side and sunk his fingers down John's throat, making the doctor throw up next to him on the floor.

_Sherlock held him preventing him to fall on the vomit and in a quick move he brought him to the bathroom._

_‘John! John, talk to me!’_

_John coughed crouching at the toilet._

_‘John!’_

_The voice pierced the doctor’s brain making him shudder. He felt his mind returning to his body suddenly aware of his surroundings and able to control his movements._

_‘I’m okay, I’m okay, don’t shout!’_

_‘Don’t shout?! What- you- what the hell is going on?!’_

_John raised his head and looked at him, Sherlock was at the edge of a panic attack pacing the whole length of the bathroom, his hands on his hair._

_‘Sher-‘ He coughed. ‘Sherlock stop.’_

_The detective stopped on his feet and looked at him wide-eyed._

_‘I’m okay.’ John said looking at him in the eye._

_‘What the hell was that?!’_

_‘I just took more painkillers than I obviously needed, it was a mistake. Everything is fine.’_

_‘Were you trying to commit suicide?!’_

_‘WHAT?!‘_

_‘Answer the question!’_

_‘NO! No! Of course not! What the hell does that come from?! Is that the picture you have of me?!’_

_‘Right now, yes.’_

_John raised his eyebrows, hurt for one moment, then he got furious._

_‘Excuse me, I’m not the one that had to be hospitalized by a drug overdose.’_

_‘Don't change the subject, John’_

_‘What the actual fuck Sherlock?!’_

_They stared at each other, both angry._

_‘You’re a doctor John you just don’t take one pill more by accident.’_

_‘I. Made. A. Mistake.’_

_‘I don’t believe you.’_

_‘Well, fuck you then.’_

_John stood up all the reality slipping away but he steadied himself and ignored the fact that he was shaking._

_‘Don’t you think that I know- don’t you think that if I wanted to kill myself I had the beautiful time of three years to do that?’_

_‘Don’t try to blame me!’_

_‘Don’t you think that in those hateful three years I didn’t stop thinking about it? How easily it would be to just take some more pills, to just pull a trigger?’_

_‘John...’_

_‘Did I do it?’_

_‘Jo-‘_

_‘DID I DO IT?’_

_‘No-’_

_‘Then don’t ever ask me that question again!’_

John was about to leave but his knees gave out and he lost his balance. Sherlock steadied him before he fell down and John tossed his hand in a sharp movement. He turned around, his face all red in anger.

'I can't believe you don't trust me.' John stared at Sherlock's eyes. 'Sherlock, seriously, you have no idea how discouraging this is.'

'I'm scared, John.'

John looked firmly at Sherlock.

'There's no reason you need to be.' He said dryly. 'You are not helping me, doing this thing. Or helping you, either.'

'But-'

'But nothing, Sherlock, or you start trusting me or we’re going nowhere'

Sherlock looked furious and John couldn't bear to see him staring at him with that much rage so he nodded and turned around to leave the room. He stopped at the door.

'I didn't mean to scare you.'

And he left in search of something to clean up his sick. Sherlock just shut the bathroom door in a noisy slam. The noise hit John's head creating a wonderful headache.

John felt numb nonetheless, and still a bit dizzy. He cleaned quickly and laid down on his side of the bed, hands laced on the top of his stomach. He didn't want to see or talk to Sherlock but he needed to lie down, so he pretended to be asleep when Sherlock came out of the small bathroom, even though he knew he couldn't fool the detective. But Sherlock didn't say or do anything, he just walked away.

_Sherlock went into kitchen and stopped shocked ‘Wow!’ He let out surprised to see the sink white and bright for the first time in years._

_He grabbed his plate from the fridge and sat on the clean table._ “I hate this sodding situation!” _He thought looking at the door frame hoping to see John there._

_‘Stupid! Stupid!’ He muttered to himself. Anger and concern ate him alive while he had his lunch in complete silence. He spent some minutes after he finished with his hands on his face trying to control the damned feelings he still wasn’t used to have._

_When he got up to clean the table he accidentally kicked his chair down. He let out a frustrated sigh. Then he left the plate at the sink with so much rage that it broke and that was enough, he couldn't hide his feelings, he couldn't control them, he didn't know how to deal with them and all he wanted to do was to scream until his lungs got out of his chest, but he didn't, he stood there grabbing at the sink white-fisted while trying to just calm down. Then he rushed back to the bedroom and grabbed the apparently sleeping doctor by his t-shirt and planted a kiss full on the lips._

_John snapped his eyes open but his vision was blocked by dark curls._

_‘What are you doing?’ He whispered against the cupid lips._

_‘I broke a dish.’_

_‘And?’_

_‘I also broke an army doctor.’_

John’s heart skipped a beat at those words and he broke the kiss to look at the sharp eyes that were bright green in the light of the room.

He opened his mouth to say something but he didn’t know what to say exactly. ‘You kissed the dish too?’

Sherlock laughed quietly at that and then sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

John put his good hand on Sherlock’s that were still holding John’s t-shirt with strength.

‘I’m so sorry.’ The detective lowered his head to plant another kiss on his doctor’s thin lips.

John kissed him back this time. He could count with his fingers every time Sherlock had apologized to anybody for something he had said so this was like a small victory.

He reached for Sherlock’s face and the bandaged hand stroke down the impossible sharp cheekbones.

‘It's okay.’ He whispered and slowly kissed him again. ‘But I’m still angry.’

Sherlock chuckled.

‘If this is angry I can live with that.’ He snapped back.

John smiled at him, with that smile that could light a million rooms.

They kissed again.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus, we've been busy   
> we promise will be posting more often now

_Fire. He was burning. The heat in his veins only increasing. The need was so unbearable. He was about to implode. A gasp. The floor was so cold. Two strong hands on his shoulders. A scream escapes from his throat. Pain. He felt numb, or maybe oversensitive. He couldn't tell. His mind was crumbling, his body convulsing. He forced his eyes open, expecting bright flames to be surrounding him._

_Blue. Dark blue. Another gasp, this time of surprise. An ocean was staring at him. If he wasn't so sure that oceans couldn’t feel he would say that there was concern in its gaze. The fire was muffled as he could only focus on the eyes -yes, eyes they were- the ocean so calm inside them. ‘Hold still’ it said and he obeyed._

_The ocean disappeared, replaced by sand. He was confused, the sand was soothing as well but he missed the ocean. He groaned and tried to search for the eyes._

_‘Sherlock let me go, i need to get to the hypo.’_

_The hypo. That was bad. He didn't know why but he knew “the hypo” would make the ocean disappear, he couldn't let that happen. ‘No… wait!’ He stammered._

_John saw as his best friend held him by his t-shirt for dear life, convulsions getting over his body. Bright sweat appeared in his forehead making the dark curls damp and his skin was burning. His eyes were blown out and John could say he was hallucinating in some way, but there was something different about them, they were so focused in his own, the whole thing seemed to stop for a second as they stared at each other._

_‘Sher-’_

_‘Wait.’_

_John was freaking out, the attack seemed different this time, still it was an attack._

_The army doctor didn’t move trying to decide what to do, when the detective’s eyes started to clear._

‘Sherlock?‘

Sherlock groaned and grabbed tighter around his t-shirt. John had Sherlock’s thin body between his legs and was leaning all his weight on his stretched arms against Sherlock’s shoulders.

The detective’s eyes started leaking as he tried not to blink, a moment of weakness and the fire would eat him alive. His body betrayed him few seconds later, finally blinking and all hell broke loose.

The second wave of the attack came like a storm. Sherlock snapped his eyes open, blown again and looked at John, with despair. The man groaned and winced.

John pinned him down strongly against the floor trying to hold the spasms down as he muttered some original curses. He stretched his arm and finally reached the hypo and stabbed it on the detective’s arm.

Sherlock’s body became still, like a pool of water but his eyes were still open, they looked lost.

_It took him two minutes to pass out on the floor._

_John, who was still above him, checked his pulse and lowered his head to rest on the unconscious man’s chest. ‘You were so close.’ He whispered listening the beating heart below him._

_John couldn’t lift Sherlock’s weight with his bad hand so he made his best to put him on the couch._

_The doctor went to their bedroom, unable to see Sherlock like that, he searched for his diary and opened it._

_‘Friday 6pm: Attack (1 week and half from the last one). It was different. The patient seems to start getting control over them, although it was too much. It’s a start. Still a long way to go.’_

_John sighed and lay in the bed. Flashes of Sherlock blown eyes turning into normal appeared before him._

_‘He resisted.’ John whispered._

_It’s not like Sherlock hadn’t been fighting the other attacks, but this time he seemed stronger, maybe the long nights of sleep were doing its work. Maybe Sherlock was getting better. John smiled and ignored the fact that the detective still couldn’t handle it._

_‘Better, he’s better.’_

************

 

One hour later Sherlock woke up to find his doctor watching him while he slept.

He groaned as his muscles felt stiff in the attempt of lying on his side and the world was beginning to focus. He closed his eyes in a sudden dizziness.

He felt how John's hand brushed his curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead.

'You did it amazingly, quite frankly, I'm surprised of your progress.'

Sherlock just nodded, his eyes still shut and his brow frowned.

'Here.' John brushed his fingers against Sherlock's lips, so slightly and carefully, placing a straw between them. 'Drink some, it will feel good.’

The fresh water tasted like heaven and Sherlock dared to open an eye to glance at his wonderful doctor. But as light pierced through his crystalline eyes, the torturous headache he was fearing finally made its entrance. He shut his eyes again and winced.

'What's wrong?'

From where John's voice came he believed the doctor was kneeling next to him.

'Headache.'

'Sherlock... I can't give you anything.' He sighed. 'The hypo should soften the pain, though, but if I give you any other medication now-'

'I know.'

John nodded to the air and straightened up. He did the same process as some days ago. He did everything possible to make the living area as dark as possible.

He knelt next to Sherlock again and brushed his hand once and again from his forehead to the top of his head.

He leaned forward, his lips nearly brushing him and whispered so softly that Sherlock could feel the warmness of the doctor's broken heart through his spine.

'Relax yourself, stop thinking, I'm here to take care of everything, just rest.'

And he planted a kiss, so little, that no one would have noticed, but Sherlock did and he grinned.

_Sherlock moved slowly and John, noticing the act, lay into the sofa by his side, wrapping himself around the detective._

_Sherlock turned his head so his lips rested on John’s forehead. And they both closed their eyes feeling each other warmth and trying not to think._

_After a long half an hour without a word John dared to talk again_ “Maybe if I distract him he feels better” _The doctor thought._

_‘Lestrade has called me...’ He whispered stroking the dark curls ‘He said if I wanted to get out for a pint this week or next one.’_

_‘And what did you say?’ The rough baritone asked._

_‘I said that I would think about it, and I would call him back.’_

_‘Go.’_

_‘What? And leave you here? Because you’re not going to the pub, aren’t you?’_

_‘God no.’_

_‘So?’_

_‘Go and have fun, John, you’ve been trapped here since all this started, go and have fresh air.’_

_‘Are you sure?’_

_‘Yes, of course, don’t worry I’ll be with Mrs. Hudson or something.’_

_‘He will ask me about you, you know?’_

_‘I supposed it, yeah.’_

_‘What do I say? About you? And me? And both of us? And all of this?’_

_‘Whatever you want, John.’_

_'But--'_

_'No "buts" John, go, just be sure you come back'._

John, time by time, brushed his lips through Sherlock’s forehead to check if a fever rose. By now his skin was cool and John was glad for it.

Sherlock, his hands on John’s waist, clenched and unclenched his fist on John’s t-shirt as waves of pain hammered his head. Every time John caressed his exposed skin whispering words until Sherlock released his battered body.

Minutes passed by until Sherlock dared to move. He sat up and John with him, holding him by his shoulder.

Sherlock blessed the steady weight on his shoulder as the dizziness hit him again.

John moved his bandaged hand to Sherlock’s neck side.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay.’ The detective muttered.

John glanced at his watch. Two hours since he woke, still too early to drug him.

He looked at his man, abnormally pale, lilac circles around his closed eyes, dry lips and skin, and frowned forehead.

He felt his heartache extending and sighed in sadness and exhaustion.

_John handed him the glass of water again and Sherlock drank it quickly._

_When he finished it, the doctor put it again on the table. Sherlock tried to stand but John intercepted him._

_‘No, no, don’t move too much.’ John said passing a leg around Sherlock’s to sit on his lap facing him._

_The detective leaned back again, eyes closed. John passed a hand through the dark curls and left a kiss on the neck._

_Sherlock felt John’s hands going up and down his chest, the doctor’s breath just below his ear._

_‘We can be here all day, just don’t move until you’re ready, I don’t want you to fall.’ The soft voice made him smile._

‘I’m feeling better, actually.’ His voice was quiet.

‘Good.’ John rested his head on his shoulder, his lips brushing his neck tendons.

Sherlock put his hand under John’s t-shirt, stroking his lover’s back. He ran his fingers through the army doctor muscles. John wasn’t as fit as he used to be, but still his muscles drew beautiful defined lines through his body.

He followed the lines of his hip to run his finger along the elastic of the pyjama trousers.

John shivered and the detective smiled to himself. He continued his teasing until John incorporated again and looked at him. He held his face with both hands and they stared at each other as the doctor leaned forward for a passionate kiss, full of feelings, of “I’m sorry”s, of “I want you”s, of “lets do this”s.

Sherlock winced as a wave of pain pierced his head and John broke the kiss.

‘No, no. don’t stop.’ And he pushed John close, he ignored the pain the best he could asthey kissed again.

_John passed his hands under Sherlock’s t-shirt too and caressed the scars left on the pale chest._

_The detective’s hands were now on his upper legs, slowly going up and down._

_Wet lips were clutching at each other they moved closer. The temperature of the room rose as John bit the detective’s bottom lip, Sherlock shivered at the action and John smiled against his lips._

_In the last second John made a bad move with his injured hand and whimpered from pain. ‘Fuck.’ He breathed and quickly got his hand from under Sherlock’s t-shirt._

_They looked at each other, lips close but not touching._

_‘Maybe another day.’ Sherlock whispered and stole a kiss._

_They hugged, both in pain and half hard._

John continued groaning in pain and Sherlock cocked his head.

'John, are you okay?'

He pushed John back so he could see his face.

The man was frowning and stared back at Sherlock.

'Let me see.'

Sherlock took carefully his hand and even in the dim light that crossed the curtains he could see the pink stains covering the bandages.

John looked from his hand to Sherlock and chuckled.

'We are both knackered as fuck.' He sighed. 'I- I'm sorry.' He said looking down at Sherlock's groin and he laughed again.

Sherlock found amusing John's non-sense wordiness and his giggling.

'It's okay, I don't mind.'

The detective leaned for a kiss, trapping his face between his pale hands.

'Well, I mind a bit, actually.'

They both laughed and stared at each other eyes, both different shades of blue that evening.

'I love you.'

'I love you too.'

John brushed his lips across Sherlock's forehead and combed the dark curls back. Then he stood up.

'I need to do something to this.' He explained as he showed his injured hand to Sherlock. 'Rest now please, I’ll be right back.'

_Sherlock watched John disappear at the door and sighed. He leaned back, closing his eyes and although the ponderous pain on his head he smiled._

_The feeling was interesting, unexplored and definitely wanted._

_He never had any experience in what comes to sexual interaction. He never felt the need of having one. Sherlock used to found all of this a_ distraction _, a really boring distraction and never understood why people thought sex was so important._

_But things were changing inside the detective, an urgent need to explore, to feel._

_When his doctor first kissed him in that hospital bed just a few weeks before, he felt strange. The action was born of love, of affection, things that Sherlock had really few experiences with, but it felt_ good _._

_Every kiss after that was catalogued and saved. Everything had its place in a folder with the name of “John Watson” inside his head. He saved the memory of John’s eyes blowing up, how he caressed his hair, how his experienced lips were gentle but had the control._

_Everything was new, interesting and confusing. Extremely confusing. This was a puzzle. A new puzzle. Maybe the most interesting puzzle he would ever face. He smiled again._

_John closed the door of the bathroom and smiled._

_He hadn’t been aware of how much he missed these things. That intimate interaction, the feeling of anticipation, his skin burning at the touch of another human being. He missed it, and he hadn’t even been aware of it._

“Have I been so depressed to just forget about it?” _It had been a few years since his last… er, “experience”._

_Before the fall._

_Before their last case._

_'God, it’s been long’ He let out._

_John thought about all they had ahead, a shiver ran through his body. He smiled again._

_John hurried to take the bandage off revealing a reopened wound on his knuckles. He cursed and disinfected it again, nearly fainting from pain._

_In five minutes new bandaged covered his hand and the feeling of slight happiness and lust hadn’t disappeared._

_He returned to the lounge and joined Sherlock again in the sofa, sitting on his left._

He rested his head on the detective's bony shoulder and his freshly bandaged hand on his leg.

'How is it feeling?'

The deep voice echoed through both bodies.

'Fine, just fine. Your head?'

John closed his eyes as Sherlock drew soft lines with his fingers through the bandages.

'Better.'

John nodded and sighed, suddenly exhausted.

'Do you mind if we stay here the rest of our lives?'

'Not at all.'

************

 

John woke up realising he had fallen asleep some time while talking with Sherlock -well, more like listening to him.

He opened one eye and saw the now completely dark room and closed his eyes again.

'How long?'

Sherlock who was in the same exact position whispered. 'Two hours.'

'Really?'

'Yes, I watched you all the while.'

John felt how the detective smiled to him. Sherlock had the strange hobby of watching John Watson sleep. He used to do it three years ago without letting the doctor know it. He does it now, not minding if the doctor knows it or not. The difference was that now he could touch the mid-tanned battered skin, trace impossible drawings with his fingers and let the warm steady and calm breath bath his pale skin.

He was thankful for those peaceful moments, where he and his doctor could just be, be there without the world collapsing around them, be at least something close to happy.

_John stretched and leaned back to rest on Sherlock’s lap, his head on the detective's right arm._

_‘How’s your head?’ He asks with a smile._

_Sherlock runs a hand through John’s chest. ‘Fine, it doesn’t hurt as much.’_

_‘Great! I’m hungry.’_

_‘I could eat something.’_

_‘It’s your turn to make dinner.’_

_‘Oh, seriously?’_

_‘Yep.’_

_‘You’re just using me.’_

_‘C’mon! I’ve been looking after you like a child lately, making you sleep and eat and hugging you when you have migraines.’_

_‘Like you have anything against that.’_

_‘No, but I would love some nice treatment too.’_

_‘Am I treating you badly?’_

_John frowned at the serious tone on Sherlock’s voice. ‘No.’ He hesitated. ‘I just like when people do nice things for me, like a dinner, I’m always the one having to take care of everything and everyone.’_

_‘Do you feel rejected?’_

_John flinched awkwardly at the sudden question. ‘Sometimes, not by you, right now, but… people sometimes don’t realise that everyone can have their problems not just them and everyone enjoys some attention.’_

_‘Right now?’_

_‘Oh, you know what I mean.’ He sighed. ‘Can we just leave the topic? I want something to eat and I’m not going to get out of this couch.’_

'John, how many times I have to say I'm sorry?'

Sherlock seemed suddenly annoyed by John's presence.

'Sherlock, I didn't mean to-'

'No, John, No. I know you still blame me for everything. For the fall, for the lies, for the exile, for the drugs, for the cuts, for the loneliness, for everything.' Sherlock pushed John up and got up from the sofa and faced John again. 'I don't know how to say to you there was no choice for me and no one blames me more than myself.'

'Sherlock, no-'

'John, will you let me finish?' Sherlock snapped.

John stared in silence at Sherlock, his eyes full of sadness, his heart ached.

'It was- it _is_ not easy for me either.' He stopped, he still struggled talking about how he felt. 'Having you like a puppet, all day up and down, following me everywhere because I _can't_ be alone. Having to see your scars and your exhaustion.' He sighed and looked around. 'Believe me if I could go back and change everything, I would. No point of hesitation. John, I-' He groaned at loud, he was making no-sense. 'Never mind, John.'

Sherlock turned his back to the doctor and walked away.

'Sherlock, no, wait! I wasn't meaning that!'

John straightened up and rushed after Sherlock.

'What did you mean then!?'

Sherlock turned violently, his eyes wild, his face red in anger.

_‘I- I-‘ John started but his voice didn’t seem to come, he cleared his throat and looked at Sherlock again. ‘I meant that… no one, ever… cared about me, not long enough to actually worry about me, Jesus! No one knew that I cut myself and I didn’t even realise it until you pointed it out… But I’m okay with that, I’m the one that must take care of people, I’m a doctor, I’m a soldier.’ He hesitated again. ‘But, sometimes… sometimes I really appreciate some attention, and you are the only person that actually gives me that, and you can be annoying as hell and rude and hard to get through… but you do that, maybe not when I need it or when the moment would require it, but- I know you care about me, more than anyone… and I don’t blame you, not at all, never. I may have been angry, and maybe I would have liked to punch you more than once, but I don’t blame you, it’s not your fault, anything about this is your fault.’_

“It is my fault. _” John thought but didn’t say it._

_They looked at each other._

_A moment of silence. Neither of them knew what to say next._

_‘I meant that I like when you take care of me.’ His voice turn into a whisper with every word._

_‘I should make the dinner.’ Sherlock said, his tone cold._

_John could see in the dim light Sherlock’s eyes calculating, his brain going at hundred and twenty percent._

_The detective turned and headed to the kitchen._

John took a few deep breaths before he followed Sherlock to the kitchen. _“That was close.”_ He thought.

He sat on the kitchen table and watched Sherlock cook, or an attempt of it.

Twenty torturous minutes of utter silence passed by until they both were sitting down on the table.

John started eating the spaghetti in front of him, edible counting Sherlock had made them.

He noticed how Sherlock was moving the pasta up and down the dish but not eating it.

'You said you were hungry.' He said not looking at the detective.

'Not any more.' His voice was deep and dry.

Silence.

John continued eating.

'Sherlock, please.'

No answer.

The detective was still staring at the dish. John mentally sighed and finished his plate.

'They tasted really nice. Thank you.'

Sherlock nodded still not glancing at the doctor.

John put his dish on the sink and put the kettle on. He was going to do some washing up when the baritone voice sounded behind him.

'Leave it, I will do it tomorrow.'

'But-'

'I said leave it.' He said dryly.

John sighed and nodded and prepared tea for them both.

He took Sherlock's untouched plate and replaced with a steaming mug of sweetened tea and a pair of biscuits.

'You have to eat at least these. You've gone through an attack and a headache without eating anything more than a poor breakfast and you are about to take the sleeping pills. You. Have. To. Eat. It. Understood?'

Sherlock stared at him defiantly until John was tired of the stupid game and picked up his mug and left to the living room.

_Sherlock grabbed as much biscuits he could hold with one hand and forced them to get down his throat. The tea burned his guts but he finished in one minute. God! He was so angry._

_‘HOW can you say you_ must _take care of people?’ He exclaimed passing by the door._

_John looked at him calmly, he was waiting him to explode in some way._

_‘What do you want me to say, Sherlock?’_

_‘I don’t understand, I just can’t, it’s not your duty or your obligation, you don’t have to.’_

_‘Believe it or not it is.’_

_‘How can you say that?’_

_‘I’m not having this conversation.’ John said heading to their bedroom._

_‘Well, I am.’_

_‘You can’t just ask me that! Don’t you understand?’_

_‘Make me understand then.’_

_‘It. Is. My. Fucking. Responsibility.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘I don’t know! And I don’t care! It’s what I’ve been doing all my life!’_

_'It's going to kill you if you continue like this.'_

_The doctor looked at him barely breathing from anger._

_‘You don’t have to take care of me, John.’_

_‘Yeah, I have.’_

_‘I can perfectly take care of myself and my problems, I don’t need to bother you with them.’_

_‘You obviously can’t.’_

_‘Look who’s speaking.’_

_John narrowed his eyes his fists clenching by his sides_

_‘Just take the bloody pills and go to sleep Sherlock.’_

_He passed him the medicine, Sherlock caught it on the air._

_‘Fine.’ He said and pushed one pill down._

_‘Fine.’ John said._ ‘ _You’re sleeping alone today if you so can_ take care of yourself. _'_

_And without another word he went to his old room._

He sighed and lay down over the sheets and stared at the ceiling. He would have to check on Sherlock in ten minutes or so, to see if he is sleeping and all right. He _had_ to. Sherlock was his everything and now that he was back he wasn't going to ignore him and let him go alone through this.

Not another rehab alone.

But he was so utterly pissed he would have throttled Sherlock just because he breathed. Better throw some space. They both were tired, exhausted to be more exact and completely knackered, restless to add in the list. The most insignificant thing would make the world explode around them.

They spent twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week together. Good, but too much. Too much by now.

John's heart suddenly stopped. “ _What if it was too much forever for Sherlock?_ ” He frowned and shook his head, trying to ignore those thoughts.

He rolled on his side and pulled his knees up nearer to his chest. Five minutes and he would check on Sherlock.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never seems to be the right time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild dubious consent

**__ **

_John woke up to find six-feet of a consulting detective wrapped around him so tightly he couldn’t move a muscle. He looked to his right where Sherlock was snoring quietly by his ear. He rolled his eyes and tried to suppress a smile. After checking on him the night before, John couldn't resist staying, five minutes in his old room and he knew he couldn't stand a whole night in there, too many bad memories. So he stayed, even if he was still upset, the doctor had closed his eyes and drifted off quicker than he thought he could._

_‘You bloody idiot.’ He muttered cause the detective was a royal idiot._

_‘Just like you...’ A deep baritone answer him. Surprised John saw two narrowed clear eyes looking at him._

_‘You’re awake.’_

_‘Good deduction.’_

_John chuckled and wet his lips._

_‘You still want to fight?’_

_‘No.’_

_They smiled._

_John hugged his detective too, clenching at the back of his t-shirt, Sherlock’s lips on his forehead. Silence took over the warm room for an hour as they struggled between consciousness._

_Sherlock’s stomach growled loudly against John’s._

_‘You’re a dork.’ John whispered against his partner’s neck._

_After another half an hour of failed tries of going out of bed they were at the kitchen. Sherlock ate his pasta from the day before as they talked quietly._

_‘I’m leaving at 7pm when Greg finishes his shift.’_

_‘I know.’_

_‘I’m probably coming back pretty late, if you feel like sleeping warn Mrs. Hudson so she’s around the flat.’_

_‘It’s okay, I’ll wait for you.’ Sherlock said with his mouth full of spaghetti._

_John shook his head. He felt how a heavy weight on his guts disappeared at the view of Sherlock actually eating._

After a quick and quiet lunch John took a long relaxing shower.

The hot water pouring down on him felt like heaven. His back was pretty much knackered, to be honest. He had been sleeping really bad, or not sleeping at all and carrying a certain unconscious detective up and down nearly everyday for a month now.

He straightened up, holding his arms up and his spine bones cracked liberating all the tension accumulated. He sighed in relief and let his arms hang at his side.

After fifteen minutes of pouring water he stepped out the bathtub, wrapped himself with a towel and with one hand he dried his hair the best he could. He went out the steamy room with nothing more than the towel around his hips.

He was attempting to enter their room when he heard Sherlock mumbling non-sense to the air.

John's damp head showed up on the door frame of the living area.

Sherlock was curled on the sofa, knees to chest, shouting to the TV. He smiled to himself with a plan on his mind.

He glanced at his watch. Still five hours until his meeting with Greg. _More than enough_.

'John this TV show is so wrong. It makes no sense at all! The timelines are wrong and the dialogues are tedious!'

John sat next to Sherlock and the detective looked at him and then at his bandages-free hand. The wound looked really bad but at this point it had re-opened twice, Sherlock sighed mentally.

He looked again at John and frowned.

'John get something on you'll get cold.'

John moaned and leaned against Sherlock shoulder.

'I want to ask you a favour.'

He made kind of a pout and looked at Sherlock with his deep ocean blue eyes, all bright and glowing.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he swallowed. A naked damp doctor covered only by a towel was asking him a _favour_.

Sherlock opened his mouth but was short for words.

'Would you, with those virtuous long fingers of yours, give my fucked up back, a massage?'

_Sherlock looked at John steadily for about a whole minute, his mouth still opened, barely breathing._

_‘Sherlock? Are you okay?’_

_Sherlock just nodded slightly, he cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, yes, perfectly fine. I would, er, need you to turn?’_

_John smiled, amused, and turned his bare back at Sherlock._

_The detective looked at the exposed skin and his heart skipped a beat. “_ Do something you idiot! _” a voice in his head screamed._

 _He rested his hands on the doctor’s shoulders and started to awkwardly move his fingers drawing circles “_ Damn! Damn! Damn! How do people give massages? I don’t have any data about massages!! how does this work?! _” Starting to panic he moved his hands down noticing John’s bones under his fingers “_ Okay, okay, think, Sherlock, think! it can’t be so difficult! _”_

 _John moaned quietly and Sherlock felt the sound running through skin of the doctor’s back. He started to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen “_ breathe, you idiot, keep calm. _”_

_His pants were starting to feel tight and that was distracting him from his work._

_Sherlock was going through a whole battle with his own body when John spoke. ‘Oh, yeah! Right there!’_

_Sherlock felt like fainting when he massaged the skin just below John’s scar on his shoulder._

_‘Jesus, that feels good!’ John said perfectly aware of Sherlock’s state._

_‘Hmm.’ Sherlock managed to said, he was getting paler by the moment and was having a bad time to coordinate moving his fingers and breathing._

_Also a certain part of his anatomy was demanding immediate attention but he would need to get out of the room to handle that._

_John cracked his neck and looked at him with the corner of his eye. He smiled. Not the John smile. Not a sad smile. A completely different smile that sent a rush of blood directly to Sherlock’s groin._

Sherlock continued squeezing John's shoulder with a bit more confidence while the doctor let out arousing moans and growls.

Sherlock run his hands down John's back, pressing and massaging his back muscles the best he could. He felt John shivering when he stroked his lower back. He repeater the movement and another shudder run through John's spine.

The doctor turned around with a smirk on the corner of his thin lips.

'Enough massaging.'

John trapped Sherlock between his stretched arms -he kept his left hand hanging next to Sherlock but not leaning any weight on it- and between his both knees.

Sherlock instinctively lay down and let the doctor do his way, not for long, though. John kissed him hungrily, sucking and nibbling his lower lip.

Sherlock pushed John closer by his lower back and the towel unwrapped from John's hips and fell down to the ground.

Neither of them gave that any importance and they continued kissing roughly, moans and groans escaping from their throats.

Sherlock sat up again keeping John on his lap. John's hands were laced on Sherlock's dark curls, pulling softly. Sherlock moaned with the pulls as his tongue worked on John's mouth and his hands down his pectorals and nipples.

Sherlock broke the kiss, gasping, and kissed John's neck, licked the strong tendons down his right collarbone. He bit it and kissed just under it until he found John's nipple and licked it teasingly.

John let out a moan and his grip in Sherlock's hair tightened making the detective pant.

He sucked, licked and nibbled until John's nipple was hard and he kissed him again.

John's -and Sherlock's- erection was more than obvious and Sherlock felt it tight against his growing groin.

He caressed the doctor down with his long and clever fingers, following the form of his muscles and stroking his chest hair.

And then the front door slammed.

They broke the kiss and looked at each other wide eyed.

'Mrs. Hudson.' Breathed John and closed his eyes in frustration.

'Boys! I got you the shopping.' They could hear her little steps up the stairs.

'Sorry.' Whispered Sherlock and kissed him on the lips.

John got up and picked the towel and headed their room and just when he disappeared all naked at the corridor Mrs. Hudson opened their door.

_‘Good lord Sherlock! Are you okay?’ The old woman said heading to the kitchen and leaving the bags on the table ‘Were you having a nap?’_

_‘What?’_

_‘Your hair is a mess, would you like me to comb it.’_

_‘Oh, ehm, no, it’s okay.’ He said passing a hand through his hair trying to control his wild curls._

_‘I brought you vanilla iced-cake, I think it’s John’s favourite.’_

_‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’_

_Sherlock was looking at her from the sofa only letting her see his face._

_‘And I brought the ingredients for a special salad Jamie Oliver did a few weeks ago, John and I commented it, it seems delicious!’_

_‘Aha.’ Sherlock said trying to put an interested face._

_‘Okay, so I think that’s it, you know you can come by my flat this afternoon when John leaves if you want.’_

_‘I know, Mrs. Hudson, I know.’_

_‘I’ll leave you then, see you later.’_

_‘Bye, Mrs. Hudson, bye.’ He said distracted and didn’t dare to move until the door closed completely._

_Sherlock sighed dramatically and waited until the adrenaline rushed back -and other thing to get down- to go to their room._

_John was already with his trousers and t-shirt on._

_‘Did she go?’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Oh my god! That was close!’_

_John giggled and Sherlock could swear that was the most beautiful sound he ever heard._

_‘We should be more careful next time.’_

_‘I’ll put a lock on the door.’_

_John chuckled again._

_‘No, no, that’s too subtle, I’m aiming for a tie on the knob.’_

_Sherlock smiled at the comment and it was such a genuine smile it made John’s heart warm._

_‘She bought vanilla iced-cake.’_

_‘Oh, I love it!’_

_‘I know.’_

************

 

'Make sure he eats.'

'Yes, John, don't worry about that. Now go and have fun for once.'

Mrs. Hudson brushed John's coat at his shoulder and patted his cheek lovingly.

'You know where's Sherlock's medicine are.'

Sherlock stood up abruptly and stood between Mrs. Hudson and John.

'For fuck's sake, John, just go.' He said and he planted a kiss on his lips and pushed him out the Mrs. Hudson's flat. 'I'll wait for you.'

John nodded and left 221B.

 

************

 

Sherlock glanced at the phone's screen. 2:03 am. He sighed and stared at the ceiling again.

He had left Mrs. Hudson's flat two hours ago, letting the landlady get her sleep. He had lay down on the sofa and started at the ceiling for the next two hours, waiting for John. If only he had a case to think of…

Sherlock groaned in boredom and rolled on his side.

Then he heard someone struggling to open the front door. “ _Drunk?_ ” Sherlock frowned and paid careful attention to the noises coming up the stairs. John's steps were messy and slow.

Sherlock stood up to open their flat's door and found John in the other side giggling.

Sherlock looked at him frowning and John started laughing and jumped against him lacing his arms in the back of Sherlock's neck. He kissed him but broke off the kiss giggling like a fool.

'Hullo.'

John tried to pull a serious face but ended up chuckling. Suddenly one of John's knees gave up and Sherlock hold him up preventing to stumble.

_Still holding John by his arms Sherlock closed the door._

_John stood and pinned him against it, strongly gripping his hands above his head, John's other hand was going down. He kissed him again, lips tasting like alcohol._

_‘John you are drunk.’_

_It was not a question._

_‘Good deduction! You know what else I am right now?’ With his lips now on his ears he whispered. ‘Horny.’_

_Sherlock frowned, not really knowing how to feel about that._

_‘I think you need to go to sleep, John.’_

_‘Yeah, yeah, let’s do that, let’s go to bed.’_

_Grabbing him by his wrist he tried to pull Sherlock through the lounge._

_‘No.’_

_John turned around, almost losing his balance._

_‘What do you mean “no”?_

_‘I said no.’_

_John hands were again on the inside of his dressing gown and grabbing his arse._

_‘C’mon, Sherlock, I know you want this, I even brought a present for you.’_

_With a smirk on his face he slide his hand on his pocket, pulled out a tube of lube and condoms and threw them to the detective._

_Sherlock looked at him wide-eyed, frowning his brow._

_John tossed his jacket aside in what could have been a sexy movement but ended up being just awkward, his hands were again on the detective._

_‘You drive me mad Sherlock Holmes, I hate you, you don’t know what you do to me.’_

_‘John, I don’t think—‘_

_‘You want to hear a funny story?’_

_John managed to take the dressing grown on the floor, leaving Sherlock with only his pyjama trousers and t-shirt._

_‘Greg saw my scars,’ He giggled again ‘he saw them. And I could see the look on his face, it was so strange…’_

_John started to leave hot kisses on the detective neck._

_‘And you know why did that happen? Because you bastard took all my jumpers.’_

_John licked the tendons on his neck._

_‘You took all my jumpers and now he is worried about me. I wonder how long will that last, a few days? A week? That’s enough time until something else more important comes and distracts him, what do you think?’_

_‘John, stop.’_

_‘But the best part of it all is that I don’t care, not a bit, nope.’_

_Sherlock was frozen where he was standing, still with the lube and condoms on his hand, he watched John as he moved slowly against his long body._

_‘Right now I don’t care, you know how difficult is that? Not caring?’_

_Another chuckle._

_‘Right now I only want to fuck you hard against that wall over there, so c’mon.’_

_Without any warning John put his right hand inside Sherlock’s pyjama trousers and squeezed his groin, Sherlock gasped and tried to get John out of him._

_‘No, John, we can’t… you are not… being you, you’re not thinking clearly!’_

_‘I’m thinking more clearly that I had in years.’_

_‘John, please, look at me, stop!’_

_John looked at his face, eyes not focusing well._

'I- I really want this but not now, not like this.' Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes for a second and opened them again. 'So please, change your clothes and get to bed, I'll be there briefly.'

John shook his head from side to side and giggled.

'Joh-' The doctor leaned for another kiss and pressed the taller man against him making him unable to move.

'I know you're scared.' He breathed between kiss and kiss.

'John, it's not tha-'

'But-' He kissed his neck. 'I will make sure-' His piece of collarbone showing out the t-shirt. 'you enjoy it.'

'John!'

Sherlock grabbed John's face between his hands tightly, squeezing his cheeks.

'Thank you, but that's not the issue right now. Go and change clothes and go to sleep, now, or I will have to knock you down.'

John giggled unable to focus his gaze.

'You... and who's army?' He licked his upper lip in cockiness.

'Go. To. Sleep.' Sherlock said, now pissed by the doctor's game. 'Come on.'

He turned John around by his shoulders and pushed him towards the bedroom, turning off the lights behind them. John all the while tried to coordinate his legs and didn't stop giggling.

_The drunk man stumbled on into the bedroom followed by Sherlock, he made it to the bed and sat on the edge of it facing the detective, he opened his legs and patted the bed with one hand_

_‘Come here.’_

_Sherlock looked at him murderously but the doctor couldn’t focus anything at this point._

_John stood up and grabbed Sherlock by the T-shirt and forced him to fall on the bed, Sherlock on the top of John._

_He started to undress Sherlock by his t-shirt but the detective held him by his wrists, and pinned him on the bed._

_‘I. Said. Stop. It’_

_‘You’re so hard sometimes.’ He giggled ‘Don’t you get it? Hard!’_

_Another stupid chuckle and Sherlock had had enough._

_‘Put your pyjamas on and sleep John.’_

_‘You’ll have to do that for me if that’s what you want.’_

_Sherlock growled in frustration. In a quick move he took John’s trousers off._

_‘Now_ that’s _what I’m talking about!’ The doctor exclaimed still lying on his back._

_In a second Sherlock slid John's pyjama trousers on. The drunken man removed his t-shirt revealing the mid-tanned chest and smiled at Sherlock._

_Two minutes of struggle and John was completely dressed for bed._

_The doctor sat again, and rolled over the detective, immobilizing him._

_‘Get off me.’ Sherlock breathed in a serious tone._

_‘I don’t want to.’_

_Sherlock slipped out of the bed tossing John aside in a harsh move._

_‘No, don’t go, don’t go.’ John mumbled grabbing his wrist._

_‘GET OFF!’ Sherlock shouted._

_John let him go with a confused expression and saw the detective enter in the bathroom and close the door with a slam._

_John leaned back on the bed and passed out immediately._

Sherlock splashed fresh water to his face and realized he was shaking.

John was actually right. He was scared but expectant. He missed the old days when he was owner of his feelings and emotions until a certain doctor appeared and certain three years were taken from them.

He dried his face with a towel and sighed deeply.

Scared wasn't the word. He was ready and he wanted to, needed to do it, with John, only with John.

He shook his head. He didn't want to re-think all that again and have the same inner conversation he had been having for days.

He took the sleeping pills little bottle and swallowed one. He stepped out the bathroom to find John sprawled on the bed snoring softly.

He rolled John to his side in case the man threw up and covered him with the sheets and blankets.

He brushed his hand through John's dark blond hair and felt the dizziness invading him. The detective surrounded the bed and lay on his side, this time facing John. He understood now why the doctor hated so much him giving his back while they slept.

He sighed and shut the world off.


	13. Chapter 13

 

John woke up feeling extremely dizzy and with one of the worst headaches he’s experienced in his life. He frowned and leaned on his back. “ _How did I end up in our bed?”_

He slid a hand through his flat stomach. “ _When did I put my pyjamas on?”_

His mouth was dry and his brain felt like if it was about to explode. Flashes from the night before ran behind his closed eyelids. “ _Sherlock!”_ He definitely behaved like an idiot. “ _Oh God, Sherlock, I'm sorry_.”

He dared to open an eye and he distinguished Sherlock's form curled by his side.

He rolled on the bed to embrace him and kissed his forehead.

'I'm sorry.' He whispered.

'It's okay.' Sherlock's whisper was hoarse and his eyes were still closed.

_John lay again on his back, his body demanding water, but he didn’t feel like leaving the bed. He was having problems to focus his gaze._

_The dim light that came from the window pierced his brain. The headache and stomach-ache felt like he was slowly being tortured._

_‘You need to take a shower, you still smell like alcohol and smoke.’ Sherlock murmured, he hadn’t opened his eyes yet._

_He was concern about John, although he knew he was only going through a hangover and was nothing to worry about. He was also extremely pissed off with the doctor, so the most logical thing to do was to secretly keep an eye on him but don’t help him either. The sleeping pills were still on his system and the bed felt incredibly comfortable so he tried to sleep again._

_John hummed in agreement and closed his eyes. He could felt the alcohol still running through his veins._

_He tried to sit up but he failed at the intent. He growled and passed an arm on his face to avoid the light coming through the window._

_Approximately an hour passed and the doctor felt like dying while Sherlock was only waiting for John to get himself together._

_The detective felt completely awake by that time so he gave up on his stupid attempt of ignorance and hugged John placing one hand on his belly and stroking the doctor’s hair with the other._

_‘You’re a sodding idiot, John Watson.’_

_The army doctor didn’t respond at the statement but mentally thanked the warmness of Sherlock’s hands on him._

Sherlock felt how John's guts moved under his hand, working the alcohol out of his system. He kissed his cheek softly and whispered in his ears.

'Come on, John, what first, shower? I'll make you some breakfast.'

'I'm not hungry, Sherlock.' John's voice was a hoarse whisper.

'You should eat something, take some painkillers and get back to sleep.'

John looked at him amused.

'Dr. Holmes, any other recommendations?'

Sherlock looked at him murderous but a smirk drew in the corner of his lips.

'John, I'm serious.' He said giggling.

'Oh, yes, I see how serious you are.'

'John Hamish Watson move your arse from this bed, get a warm shower and come back to me so we can have breakfast.'

'Yes, Captain Holmes.' answered John, bringing his hand to his forehead in a military salute.

'John!'

'Okay.' John jumped off the bed and headed the bathroom laughing. 'Okay.'

_John entered in the bathroom and closed the door._

_He let the water warm up as he undressed._

_Inside the bathtub he closed his eyes and concentrated in get the control back to his body. The water purified his skin but his limbs still felt numb and the headache didn’t disappear._

_Twenty minutes after, he stepped out and put a clean and warm pyjama._

_Walking slowly and avoiding the temptation of falling on the bed again he arrived to the kitchen._

_Sherlock turned around and welcomed John with a smile._

_‘Better?’_

_‘Yeah, kinda.’_

_‘Good. Here, drink the tea and eat the biscuits.’_

_John sat down and drank as he was told. The tea felt warm and actually made the stomach-ache disappear in minutes._

_Sherlock smiled again, pleased. ‘It’s not the first hangover I’m dealing with, at least this time I’m not the one suffering it.’_

Sherlock sat across the table and extended his hand over it. John laced his fingers between Sherlock’s long ones. He smiled softly and felt his eyes closing.

He intended to rub his eyes with his spare hand but stopped when he realised it was the wounded one it was not wrapped since he had removed the bandages.

Sherlock took his hand and brushed carefully the only healing wound left on the knuckles the other ones had healed pretty well, only this particularly insisted in reopen itself at any given chance. John just watched silently. The detective left the kitchen and came back with John’s kit.

He cleaned and bandaged the hand and John nodded his gratefulness.

All the while there was a pleasant silent surrounding them, there was no need to speak, nothing to say.

John was feeling how the years made his alcohol acceptance worse and Sherlock just kept quiet considering the doctor’s headache.

John blessed Sherlock’s characteristic quietness, how the man sometimes was more like a cat than anything else.

‘Bed?’ Sherlock’s voice was nothing but a whisper.

‘Yes, please.’

_Sherlock led him to their bedroom and gently pushed him down the bed._

_John closed his eyes and heard Sherlock close the door and dim the lights as good as he could._

_The detective placed himself above his doctor and started to leave kisses on his neck._

_‘Sher—‘_

_‘Shh, don’t talk, try to sleep.’_

_More kisses on his shoulder and on his neck and just above his heart._

_John passed out immediately from exhaustion wrapped around Sherlock’s arms._

_The detective never stopped exploring the doctor’s body, with his hands with his lips, with his tongue, with his breath. Sherlock found out that he couldn’t get bored of his partner’s body even while passing over the same spots for two hours._

_When John woke up feeling healed, relaxed and loved, they kissed. Lips against lips, body against body, heart against heart._

_They smiled._

The soft kisses became wet and hot. John pushed Sherlock against him by his lower back and made his way with his tongue to Sherlock’s mouth.

The detective moaned when John pulled back biting his lower lip.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and suddenly left the bed and the room. John, shocked, frowned his brow and muttered a ‘What?’ He sighed and closed his eyes feeling the frustrating tightness on his pants. “ _Not again._ ” He thought.

Sherlock appeared again and threw the lube bottle and the condom box at his chest.

John awkwardly caught them and looked at Sherlock who was grinning at him. Sherlock jumped to bed over him and kissed him again.

‘The door is locked.’ He smiled at him.

‘And the tie on the knob?’

‘Oh, shut up, John Watson!’ Sherlock kissed his neck, trailing kisses down his body. Collarbones. Scar. Chest. Nipple.

John pushed Sherlock apart and looked at him on the eyes, Sherlock suddenly confused.

‘Let me take charge, just for today, okay?’ And John rolled over placing himself on the top of Sherlock. ‘Let me show you how to do this.’

_‘Okay.’ Sherlock said and John leaned forward starting to blow his earlobe, his body moving slowly against him._

_‘Don’t worry.’_

_He licked his neck._

_‘We’re going to go slow.’_

_Kiss on the jaw._

_‘We can stop whenever you want.’_

_Hot kiss on the lips._

_‘And try whatever you want.’_

_John bit the detective’s lip._

_‘I’m yours.’_

_Sherlock moaned as they kissed, their lips already pink. The doctor slowly pulled Sherlock’s t-shirt out leaving them with only their pyjama trousers on._

_He rubbed his hands through Sherlock’s arms, feeling the delicate skin burning hot. The pale chest below him demanding to be bitten. He went down leaving marks on his partner. Sherlock watched him move, amazed by the duality of the act, gentle and hot at the same time._

_John arrived to his belly and pulled up again while licking him until his neck. And repeated the slow trip down._

_Sherlock was torn between closing his eyes and save the data emanating from his skin or watch the doctor openly explore his body. He was_ fascinated _. Sherlock never had been touched like that, never thought he could want any kind of physical interaction like the one John was performing. Maybe he could seem such a strong individual but he always felt uncomfortable at the touch of any other human being, from shaking hands to pats on the shoulder, he couldn’t stand it._

_But John was the only exception, in more than one sense. The only constant. The only puzzle. The one._

_And so he let John do whatever he wanted with his exposed skin. He let John bite, kiss, scratch, lick, rub. And each action was welcomed, each action was enjoyed. And it was only the start._

John had never mentioned it to Sherlock, but he had already gone through a gay relationship, intercourse included. Actually their relationship was basically based on sex, to be honest.

In the battlefield it wasn't easy to keep oneself sane and one of the boys under his command, a young brunet lad from Plymouth, gave him some more than blessed company and a mental break from the hell they were surrounded with. Eric was his name. John still woke up at mid-night, all of a sudden, with a knot on his throat and gasping when the images of the bullet piercing Eric's stomach and battering down that oh-so-beautiful body of him against the dirty and sandy floor and how the blood welled from the shaking body without him being able to stop it tormented him on his sleep. _Eric_. John still smiled sadly when he remembered him.

But now his world revolved around that madman that was his and from no one else. That tornado of dark curls that swept away everything that hurt his doctor. And in that moment his most beloved possession lay under him demanding to be loved.

John continued his trips of kisses and bites, leaving red visible marks on the pale torso. _His and no one else's_. John ran a finger under Sherlock's trousers elastic and he felt how Sherlock shivered at the warm touch.

John knelt on the bed, each of Sherlock's legs at his sides and pulled the trousers down, pants included. He rushed to him again, wet kisses with lots of nibbling and licking and sucking.

Sherlock sat up and finished undressing John, braking the kissing for seconds and reuniting his mouths again nearly in desperation.

All the while deep moans filled the room, now lit by the early afternoon light.

John ran his fingers down, sensing all of Sherlock's muscles until he reached his half-hard cock and slid one finger through its length.

Sherlock let out a moan that John stifled with his tongue.

He began to stroke Sherlock's cock up and down until it was fully engorged. He then placed noisy and wet kisses for the hundredth time down his torso until he reached Sherlock's groin and encircled it with his tongue and began to nibble and lick and suck.

_John took the head of Sherlock’s dick with his mouth playing with his tongue as Sherlock gasped and cursed breathlessly._

_‘Shh, relax, just tell me if it’s too much.’_

_John turned his attention to his work, encircling the head again and feeling Sherlock shudder before him._

_Slowly he pushed down until everything was inside his mouth -A quite stunning trick that had taken him rather a lot of experiences to be able to master - Sherlock cried out, closing his eyes and arching his back. John pulled out and giggled._

_‘What do you think of that?’_

_‘Rather impressive.’_

_John did it again and the detective held the sheets in two strong fists._

_John started to move, up and down, teasing with his tongue, and Sherlock thought he could just cry from pleasure. Repeating the movement John felt his own groin fully erected. He closed his eyes and enjoyed Sherlock’s taste._

_Again reaching up until their faces were together he smiled at the strange expression on the detective’s face. He kissed his jaw, their cocks now together._

_‘Can I—?’ The deep baritone was nearly a whisper._

_‘Of course.’ John said against the pale neck and long fingers encircled his dick._

_Sherlock savoured the interesting tact of it and started to stroke. John opened his mouth and buried his forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock other hand was at the back of his neck gently gripping him._

Sherlock stroked up and down the length of John's cock in gentle and smart movements. At least he knew how to do that, even consulting detectives wanked time by time.

John gasped against Sherlock's shoulder and in a wave of pleasure he bit it leaving a deep red mark.

Sherlock winced at the bite and hold his cock against John's and rubbed them together. John's head pushed back, his mouth open and his eyes tight closed.

'Sh-Sh-Sherlock... S-Stop.'

He tried to say between gasps and moans. Sherlock looked at him confused and broke the grip around their cocks. John looked at him.

'No, love... you were, you were, doing it right.'

John swallowed and tried to catch a deep breath.

Sherlock's eyes widened at the use of the word 'love' towards him but John didn't notice.

'I just... If you continue doing that... I won't be able to... wreck your arse.'

John smirked at him and Sherlock pushed him by the back of his neck to kiss him again. John pulled one of Sherlock's legs up and rested it on his shoulder. With one hand the detective reached for the bottle of lube and the condoms that were lost between the sheets. He handed the little bottle to John and he soaked his fingers.

'Okay, let's do this. If it's too much just tell me, please.'

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes.

John slipped one finger inside his detective and felt how the man under him shuddered.

'Good?'

Sherlock nodded again his eyes still closed. John started to do little movements up and down all the time observing Sherlock's reactions.

When he felt it was wide enough he slipped the second finger and Sherlock's eyes opened all of a sudden.

'Oh God!' He gasped and shut his eyes closed again. 'This is so weird.'

John cocked his head and frowned.

'But it's good, yeah, good...'

_John moved his fingers again opening Sherlock and finally a third finger entered on him._

_John opened a condom and lubricated his own groin as he kept moving his fingers inside his lover. Minutes passed and he felt Sherlock fully opened._

_‘Okay, let’s do this, please, please, if you need to stop just tell me.’_

_‘It’s fine John, I trust you.’_

_John moved, putting Sherlock’s legs on his lap and got his fingers off him._

_Slowly but steady he entered on him and Sherlock cried out, he stopped._

_‘No no, please continue, it hurt for a second, it’s okay.’_

_He continued moving forward until he was completely inside him. They didn’t move for a moment both looking into each other eyes. They smiled._

_John started to move forward and backwards, creating a rhythm._

_Sherlock brain was a parade of data, his senses were screaming in joy as he felt John burying himself inside him again._

_John moved again so he could kiss Sherlock without stopping his rhythm, wet lips met and they kissed passionately._

_Sherlock’s hands were scratching his back with his nails. His erection between their bodies. John held Sherlock’s groin and started to stroke._

_‘Fuck,’ Sherlock cried out and moaned loudly before him. ‘Bloody fucking fuck.’_

_John kissed his chest and closed his eyes._

_Sherlock was a mess of curses and moans and John found it the hottest thing he had ever seen._

‘John...’ Sherlock’s voice was deep and buzzed through the warm air.

John shut him up with a kiss and Sherlock moaned inside his mouth. John accelerated his pace making them both gasp.

‘John!’ Sherlock cried out loud. His nails sunk on John’s back muscles and the doctor moaned in pain and pleasure his name.

More screams and moans and scratches and kisses and strokes and bites and he felt how Sherlock’s muscles tensed as the detective reached the climax shouting his name.

John smiled, got out of Sherlock and with a few strokes he came panting next to Sherlock.

After a few minutes of gasping and panting John dared to speak.

‘Are you okay?’

He rolled over his side and looked at Sherlock whose eyes were closed. He stroked his sweaty chest with warmness.

‘Yeah… yeah… give me a second.’

John tossed aside the wasted condom and got some tissues from the drawer of the night stand. He cleaned up Sherlock.

‘It was good.’ Sherlock’s eyes were still closed.

‘Just good?’ Said John in cockiness. Sherlock opened his eyes and grinned at him

‘Really good.’

_John cleaned Sherlock as best as he could and playfully left a kiss on the cheek resting his forehead on Sherlock’s side. The detective could feel the hot breath on his face._

_They kissed deeply again, Sherlock threw the tissue aside and grabbed John’s face. The consulting detective moved again on the top of his army doctor as the kiss continued._

_He run both his hands through John’s arms, ending on his wrists, stroking his scars and finally enlacing their fingers while being extremely careful with John's wounded hand._

_John unlaced his good hand to run it through Sherlock’s now faintly scars and bruises that covered his chest. They parted their lips and looked in their eyes, noses touching._

_Both looked at themselves differently now._

_There was still that sad look that had took over their expressions for the last month, damn that! The last three years. It was still there, maybe it would be there forever. But something soft was warming their stares. A shared thought, yet unspoken._

_“_ He’shealing, I’m healing, we’re going to be fine, everything is going to be fine _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that we havent updated in so long we're going to retake this soon, this is not abandoned i swear!! thank you for being so patient with us


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